


darkside

by sadomasochism



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftercare, Daddy Kink, F/M, Light Angst, Shower Sex, Smut, Street Racing, slight crack, spitting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29307789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadomasochism/pseuds/sadomasochism
Summary: "Maybe I'll hurt you," Suna says.She looks up at him with a smile. "And maybe I'll let you."a streetracer!suna au
Relationships: Suna Rintarou/Reader
Comments: 36
Kudos: 393





	1. black diamond

“Absolutely _not_ , Omi,” she growls, following the taller man into their living room. “I’m just as good you. I’m coming tonight.”

Her stepbrother sighs, running a hand through his black curls. He gives her an apologetic look that she hopes is sincere. “Y/N, it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that…”

“He doesn’t trust you,” Motoya chimes in, cackling as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Kiyoomi slaps his legs with the rolled up blueprints in his hand. “He thinks you’re going to embarrass us in front of Inarizaki—”

“—and we can’t have that after it took so long to convince Kita to let us join them,” Kiyoomi finishes, looking down at the girl. She crosses her arms as she narrows her eyes at him.

“You’re so annoying,” Y/N huffs and pushes her hair out of her face. “Just admit that you’re afraid that someone’s gonna hit on me or something.”

“She’s got a point, man,” Motoya laughs. Kiyoomi shoots his cousin a glare, but he keeps going. “Not all of us are lucky enough to have a pretty stepsister.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “I will run you over,” she says, snatching her car keys off the table.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

Kiyoomi sighs again. “Fine. You can come. But don’t flirt with anyone.”

Y/N mimics his frown. She knows him too well to think that he’s anything but distrustful of her. “What the hell? Where’s the fun in that?”

—

The parking garage on the outskirts of Tokyo looks normal on the outside, but once she reaches the basement level, the windows of her baby blue 2015 LaFerrari vibrate from the bass of the music being dialed up to a hundred. It echoes through the cabin, and she grips her steering wheel just a tad tighter as she parks beside Kiyoomi’s new matte black Audi S8 and Motoya’s silver BMW F82 M4 GTS.

She glances at her side mirror to see the two approaching her car. Kiyoomi is wearing a black mask, and he points to his face, then at Y/N, signaling for her to put hers on. She groans and reaches into the tiny white Dior bag in the passenger seat beside her, hooking the elastic straps of her face mask behind her ears.

The butterfly door of the driver’s side opens up, and Y/N steps out gracefully as if she hadn’t practiced getting out of her sports car so she wouldn’t embarrass herself in moments like these. She thanks herself for mastering the exit as she takes note of the men trailing behind Kiyoomi and Motoya.

There’s five of them. One has grey hair with black tips and the most serious face Y/N has ever seen. _That must be the captain… Kita_ , she thinks. He’s followed by two identical twins, one platinum blond, one brunette, both of them smirking. Their reputation precedes them. _The Miya twins. Hmph. Omi said they weren’t cute. What a fucking liar._ Then comes someone she’s met before: Aran, who was the reason Motoya got into Inarizaki. He and Y/N share a curt nod.

The last man in the group has an icy glare that makes Y/N’s mouth water. The air in the garage gets colder the closer he gets to her, but she feels her face flush with blood. His eyes glow a honeyed jade under the fluorescent lights, and she can barely find it in her to look away to realize that all of the team are dressed in black.

For once, she’s glad that Kiyoomi made her change what she was wearing. At least she doesn’t look out of place in her leather trousers and black satin corset. The few other girls nearby are all in short skirts and tiny tops, but there was no chance in hell Kiyoomi would have let her leave the house so exposed. Especially with Atsumu Miya on his team.

“Hello,” Kita says, stepping forward. He isn’t as tall as Kiyoomi, but is threatening all the same, voice flat and devoid of any emotion. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N. Glad to have you here tonight.”

Y/N takes off her mask, tossing it back into the car.

“All bad things, I assume,” she replies, shaking his hand. His skin is surprisingly warm and soft, but that’s to be expected from a racer nicknamed “Crown Prince”. “Thanks for overriding Kiyo’s decision, by the way.”

The blond twin laughs before moving to shake Y/N’s hand. His grip is firm and she doesn’t miss the way his thumb quickly glides over the back of her hand. “Omi-Omi, she’s funny! All you said was that—”

“Shut up, ‘Tsumu,” his brother groans, pulling him away from Y/N with an apologetic look. Kiyoomi follows Osamu to scold Atsumu off in a corner.

“Y/N,” Aran says, giving her a rather awkward side-hug before moving back to stand beside Motoya. “Nice to see you.”

“You, too.”

From where he stands, the man with the piercing stare introduces himself. His arms are crossed, and he’s leaning against the trunk of Kiyoomi’s car. He looks absolutely, positively _bored_. “Rintarou Suna.”

“Y/N Sakusa,” she says. She turns around to close the door of the LaFerrari.

He gestures to her car. “Pretty ride for a pretty girl.” There’s an edge to his voice. She can’t tell what the specific tone is. Condescending? Honest? Smug? “You race?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she answers stiffly, stuffing her hands in her back pockets.

Aran chuckles, the chain around his neck bouncing on his chest. Around them, more cars begin to fill in the empty spaces. “Don’t mess with her too much, Suna. She’s a hothead,” he says, walking away with Motoya.

“Emphasis on the _hot!_ ” Atsumu chimes in from the background, earning him a slap behind the head from Kiyoomi.

Kita turns to Y/N. “You’re used to individual racing, aren’t you?”

Y/N nods, feeling Rintarou’s eyes on her. She tries her best not to stare back at him. “Yeah. I was recruited to Scuderia Ferrari in Italy after high school.”

Kita frowns. “Sakusa never told me you drove Formula One.”

“I quit the team after my first win,” she shrugs. To be completely honest, Maranello wasn’t the best place for her. She found herself to be just as lonely there as she was in Japan. “I didn’t like that lifestyle.”

“Hm. In that case, hopefully team racing will be a good change of pace for you. Would you like me to give you a quick rundown?”

“I can take care of it, Kita,” Suna interjects. Y/N glances at him only to find him scrolling on his phone. “You can go give Atsumu his pep talk.”

Kita nods and walks away, leaving Y/N alone with Suna. Needing to steel her nerves, she pulls the Juul out from her pocket and takes a hit.

“You smoke?” she asks nonchalantly, presenting the device to him.

He shakes his head. “Dunno why some people think I do. It’s bad for you.”

She nods, tucking the Juul into the cup of her bra. “That’s precisely why I do it.” Exhaling the last of the vapor, she adds, “So, what do I need to know?”

“Well, you already know we’re the Inarizaki team. We’re part of the Japan Underground Racing Division. There are a bunch of other teams, but the most important ones are Seijoh, Karasuno, and Neko-Fukuro. Some of them have started showing up.”

He points to Kita, who is grasping Atsumu by the shoulders and talking very slowly. “Kita, you know, he’s the Crown Prince. Barely ever races anymore, but we’d be lost without him. Thing 1 and Thing 2 are the Devil’s Twins for obvious reasons. Absolute terrors when they box you in. Uh, Aran’s our mechanic. He once put a GTR engine in a Jeep and we almost broke the sound barrier. Anyways, your _step_ brother’s Spider, ‘cause he’s good at setting up traps or some shit. And Motoya… yeah. We call him Motmot. No clue why. It just makes sense.”

Y/N gives a small laugh. “When I raced for Ferrari, they called me Hellraiser. Said that’s what it felt like to drive next to me… Do you have a nickname?”

“Interesting. I’m called Shadow,” he answers. He’s standing closer to her, his figure looming over her body. She can smell the Bleu de Chanel radiating off his skin. _Fuck, his shoulders are so broad._

“Why?”

His sharp canines peek out past his lips and glint menacingly as he stares into her eyes with a grin, although it doesn’t reach his—quite frankly, _pretty—_ eyes. “Because you can never lose me if I’m tailing you.”

“Oh.”

Suna backs off just as fast as he’d approached. “Anyways, I’m gonna go talk with the guys. Kita will call you after he’s sorted out the lineup. Catch you later.”

And with that, he walks off, leaving Y/N to her thoughts.

_Kiyoomi probably didn’t tell me about him for a reason. Why—_

A voice cries out her name, pulling her out of her internal monologue. When she turns around, she’s met with one of her old friends from her time in Italy, a girl with brilliant green eyes and long, silver-blonde hair. “Alisa?! What the hell are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Alisa Haiba repeats. She’s dressed in a tight red dress and Louboutin heels. “I’m with my brother and his team. Are you… are you racing? What team?”

“Yeah. Inarizaki.”

“Oh, thank goodness. They’re all so handsome, huh?”

Y/N rolls her eyes with a half-smile. “For the last time, I’m not going to set you up with Omi. You’re too good for him.”

Alisa pouts. “But he’s so pretty—”

“Shut up,” Y/N laughs. “Give me the rundown before I meet back with my team.”

“Okay, okay, fine. That one over there,” Alisa says, pointing to a tall, black-haired man. His muscles are visible even underneath his red sweatshirt as he talks animatedly to who Y/N recognizes as Alisa’s brother, Lev, and a shorter man with shoulder-length blond hair grown out at the roots. “That’s our captain, Kuroo. Otherwise known as the Dictator. You know my brother, ‘Titan’. And that’s Kenma, our brain.”

“Wait, did you just call that other guy ‘Dictator’?”

Alisa clicks her tongue. “No, no. Dick-tator. Emphasis on the _dick_.”

“Why? Is it big?” Y/N deadpans, her smirk widening.

“Yeah. It is,” Alisa answers with a giggle. Y/N shoves her playfully. “Oh! Bokuto and Akaashi are here! Do you want me to introduce you?”

“Ah—sure, why not?” Y/N acquiesces, and lets Alisa drag her over to the Neko-Fukuro team, sporting their team colors of red and white.

“Hey, everyone! This is my friend, Y/N,” Alisa says. She glares at the boys before adding, “Be nice.”

The Dictator is the first to introduce himself. He oozes with a type of charm that Y/N thinks must work on a majority of girls, and she _knows_ he’s aware that it does. Kenma shakes Y/N’s hand like it’s a business deal. Next comes Lev, who all but throws Y/N over his shoulder in excitement at seeing his old friend.

“Haiba, put me down,” Y/N huffs, pinching him in the ribs. “The altitude is making me sick.”

He almost drops her in the process. “Oh, oh, sorry!”

Kenma smacks him in the arm with a wrench. “You’re embarrassing us.”

Lev glares down at Kenma. “Calm down, Captain Levi.”

“I will _kill—”_

“Hey!” a hunk of a man with grey and black streaked hair cheers. “I’m Bokuto—”

He pauses to grab the sleeve of his companion’s black and white track jacket, pulling him forward. “—and this is Akaashi!”

The dark-haired man bows his head respectfully. He’s the only one in the group wearing glasses. “Hello. Nice to meet you, I’m Akaashi. Bokuto-san, please let go of my arm.”

“Sorry, ‘Kaashi.”

She smiles and nods back. “I’m Y/N. I’m with Inarizaki.”

“They’re our sister team. How’d you join? Kita’s awfully picky,” Kenma says.

“I’m Kiyoomi’s step—”

“Wait, you’re _Y/N?_ _That_ Y/N?” Kuroo interrupts, putting a hand over Lev’s mouth. “Holy shit, I’ve heard about you.”

Alisa laughs. “Oops. My fault.”

“I suppose I am _that_ Y/N,” Y/N shrugs, praying that Kiyoomi or one of the other boys will come rescue her. “Whatever that means.”

“Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you tonight. We’re going up against Seijoh _and_ Karasuno, and they both recruited new racers, too,” Akaashi says. He turns to Kuroo. “I heard Seijoh got Tendou _and_ Semi. And Karasuno has Aone now… and Ushiwaka.”

Kuroo scowls. “Knowing those bastard Kings, who knows what dirty shit they’ll pull tonight.”

“Excuse me, _Dictator_ ,” Suna says, striding over to the Neko-Fukuro team and slinging an arm around her bare shoulders. “Need to bring Y/N back now.”

“Go ahead. We’ll see you on the streets.”

“Thank you,” Y/N whispers. “I don’t do so well around big groups of people. Don’t like all the attention.”

“You had me fooled,” he murmurs, dropping his arm as Kiyoomi shoots him a violent glare. Atsumu and Osamu share a look.

“Alright,” Kita says, leaning against his white Nissan Fairlady Z33. “Y/N, team races are very similar to individual races. It’s definitely more chaotic, what with like twenty or more people driving at once. Our goal is to operate at ultimate capacity. But the team is only as fast as the slowest person. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. The slowest person is Motoya,” she says, crossing her arms. The entire team laughs. Even Komori.

“Cocky. You’ve got some balls racing with a Ferrari,” Osamu comments, playing with the keys of his Subaru. “You’re not scared of fucking it up, _Hellraiser_?”

Y/N shakes her head. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Anyway,” Kita cuts in, effectively shutting Atsumu’s opening mouth. “I want Komori starting in front, Sakusa and the twins in between, and Y/N, you take the rear with Suna.”

“Putting offense in the back tonight, Kita?” Suna asks, eyebrows raised. Y/N fixates on the lollipop dangling out of his mouth, wondering what his spit tastes like. Maybe strawberry, judging by the reddish tint on his lips. She hopes he can’t tell she’s eye-fucking him. “What for?”

“Just a precaution. You two will probably catch up to the front anyways, so it evens out.”

There are six racers on each team. From Neko-Fukuro, Y/N recognizes Lev, Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi; the other two are supposedly Yaku and Konoha, according to Aran’s report on the radio.

“Seijoh’s using Tendou and Semi like I expected, plus their usual lineup. Expect a surprise.” Kita’s voice shows no trace of worry. “And Karasuno’s got Takanobu, Ushiwaka, their standard three, plus some blonde girl that looks nervous. Either she’s got nothing on Y/N, or Y/N has a good poker face.”

Even though he can’t see her, she rolls her eyes before pushing the talk button on the microphone Aran had installed in her car. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you take a dig at me.”

She can hear one of the twins laugh.

“Stay focused. Show me you deserve to be a permanent member of the team.”

Kita sounds like he’s threatening her. Her hands grip the steering wheel tightly, long, red-lacquered fingernails almost digging into her palms.

The starters take off as soon as the first race-girl drops the flag, clouding Y/N’s line of sight with the haze of exhaust smoke. She leans back in her seat and sighs. Each group of racers has a two-minute gap before the next group gets to go.

“Is there a cash prize or something?” she’d asked the Inarizaki captain.

“Yeah. We race for different underworld bosses, and they give us a cut of their bet winnings.”

“Why does it matter?” Suna asked Y/N. “Money shouldn’t be important to you, what with that flashy-ass car of yours.”

“It was my parting gift,” she sneered back, suddenly touchy. Her departure from Scuderia wasn’t anything short of messy, and the higher-ups had given her the car for her troubles. And sure, Kiyoomi’s father was filthy rich, but relying on her family for things outside of her basic needs was something that never sat right with her.

Now she taps her foot against the rubber floor mat of the LaFerrari, trying to concentrate on her breathing. Kiyoomi and the twins had just taken off with the middles, and the countdown for the backers was ticking with less than a minute left. She reaches for her phone and sets her driving playlist on shuffle. “I’m In It” by Kanye West begins to blare through the car’s speakers, and she cranks the volume up.

“Y/N?” Suna’s voice rings out in the tight cabin of her car, over the music. Aran had wired the system to work that way. “You good?”

“Fine,” she answers quietly, knowing that all the Inarizaki boys can hear them. Since Kiyoomi can’t see her, she reaches for her Juul and takes a long hit. The nicotine calms her nerves. “Better move to the starting line now.”

“Be careful,” comes Kiyoomi’s order over the predatory whirr of his Audi’s V8 engine.

“Either I be careful or we win,” Y/N shoots back. She knows that somewhere on the wide, empty back roads, Atsumu is laughing at the way she answers everything so flatly.

“Backers, shift to drive!” Alisa announces, standing in between Lev and Akaashi’s cars. With one hand, she deftly unhooks her bra and pulls it out of the front of the devilish red dress. The wink she sends Y/N means only one thing.

_Give them hell._

The lacy black bra drops at the same moment the beat of the song does, and the backers shoot down the asphalt, into the dark night.

Y/N hasn’t driven like this since coming back from Italy six months ago. She quickly realizes how much she’s missed the feeling of the gears practically shifting under her seat, the way the car’s humming sends vibrations through her entire body that make her thighs press together. Her body tenses when she narrowly misses scraping the side of the car next to her, breaking into the lead of the backer group.

She can’t tell if it’s her or the car that lets out a gleeful whine when she takes the first hairpin turn head-on, sandwiched twenty meters between Lev’s red Subaru BRZ in front of her and Suna’s silver-blue Toyota GR Supra behind her.

“Don’t worry.” His smooth voice echoes in her head. “I’ve got your back.”

The road straightens back out again, leading into a quiet highway surrounded by trees, and she takes the opportunity to perform one of her signature moves: a “slide,” named for the way she quickly maneuvers out and back into her lane to cut off the car in front of her—all perfectly calculated by her judgement. She overtakes Lev with ease, and she can see him jokingly give her the middle finger. She waves back.

Street racing isn’t so different from Formula One, she thinks. But of course she speaks too soon, and in her rearview mirror, she sees Suna take the turn by _drifting_ around another car that separates them.

_Why was that so fucking hot?_

Y/N doesn’t let herself picture him behind the wheel, large right hand over the gearshift, lips wrapped around a lollipop stick, as she soon spots the taillights of the twins’ silver and metallic lime Subaru WRXs leading a cluster of several cars.

“Don’t hesitate,” Kita orders. Of course he’s tracking their movements. “There are no cops within five kilometers. Overtake the twins and catch up to Sakusa, Y/N. You too, Suna.”

She hates the way that the command is phrased, but it’s pushed aside by her innate desire to _win._ Y/N maneuvers into the center of the pack before she gives the Ferrari more gas and slips in between the gap the twins give her. After Suna’s cleared through behind her, the twins close the space again, driving mirror-to-mirror to keep anyone else from passing.

“How’re we looking, boss-man?” Atsumu asks over the communication system.

“Good. Our backers have almost reached the tail-end of the starter group. But Motoya’s struggling to shake Seijoh from his tail,” Kita announces.

“That’s not good,” Osamu states.

“No shit,” Kiyoomi snaps. Y/N wishes he weren’t so prickly sometimes. While she was mean for fun, Omi actually meant it.

“Run a wall. Atsumu, Osamu, catch up to Suna and Y/N and drive in a line. Don’t let anyone pass. We can still win.”

“Copy that,” Y/N says, pressing the seat adjuster button to set her position into sport mode. The backrest tilts to open up, moving her torso farther from the wheel, while the seat goes forward, putting her legs at a 90 degree angle to the pedals. She exhales deeply and accelerates until she’s pushing 175 kilometers per hour, still only half of the LaFerrari’s top speed.

“Shit, Y/N, you’re gonna make me use my Nos,” Suna grumbles. “Calm down. We’re still in the lead.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll lose that lead if we don’t wall up soon,” she says.

Y/N checks her rearview mirror, only to be blinded by a quick flash of a car’s high beams. When the lights dim, she sees that Suna’s Supra is no longer protecting her tail.

“What the fuck? No, it can’t be…” she whispers to herself.

Behind her is Tobio Kageyama, in a blue Lexus LC.

She floors the accelerator, using the paddle shifters behind the steering wheel to change gears faster. It reminds her of her time in Italy—more specifically, the time Tobio taught her how to use the paddle shifters in the race cars.

“No, no, I already told you, you need to do it _like this_ ,” Tobio said, reaching over from the passenger side of the Enzo. “Fuck, how’d you get scouted if you can’t even use the paddles?”

Y/N frowned at him. He was so irritable, but when you’re a driving prodigy, you expect your peers to be at your level. “Because I’m just as good you are. Plus, I actually _try_ to get along with people, even if I don’t like them.”

“Well, if everyone were as pretty as you, I’m sure I could make an effort,” he muttered.

And that was where Y/N first went wrong.

“Was no one going to tell me that Tobio _fucking_ Kageyama was going to be here?!” Y/N yells into the microphone. Her Juul dangles out of her mouth and she takes a quick draw before throwing it onto the passenger seat.

“What’s the matter?” Kita asks. “Is that a problem for you?”

“He used to be a Scuderia driver, too,” Kiyoomi answers before she can press the talk button again. “Y/N absolutely hates him.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s a fucking asshole,” Y/N grumbles, trying to keep Kageyama from passing her. She makes sure the right side of her car is in line with the left side of his every time he tries to maneuver past her.

“They don’t call him the Brat for nothing,” Motoya laughs.

“We’re on our way, we’ll back you up,” Osamu says. “‘Tsumu, follow me out of this mess.”

“Fuckin’ shit, how are we gonna get around Karasuno’s blonde girl? She’s swervin’ all over the place!”

Y/N quickly explains how to perform her signature slide. “Got it?”

Silence. Her music cuts out again when Atsumu’s green Subaru is on the left of the Lexus, and Osamu is on the right. “Done.”

“Where’s Suna?” she asks, his promise to her at the front of her mind.

“Picking a fight with Kageyama, behind us,” Atsumu cackles. His car jerks, forcing Kageyama to move out of the way to avoid collision. “Haven’t seen him like this in a long time.”

“I can hear you,” Suna snaps. He turns on his high beams so no one in the cluster can see behind them. “Miss Hellraiser, how do you intend to shake this fucker off?”

“As soon as I finish talking, I’m going to accelerate to top speed. It’ll take me, like, three seconds to hit that. I need Atsumu to take my spot in front _immediately_ and block To—I mean, Kageyama—off. Then Suna, you get around him and take Atsumu’s position. Osamu, after Suna follows, get in front of Kageyama and line your left wheels to his right. As for catching up, I’ll let you make that call.”

“Roger that,” one of them says, but it’s drowned out by the sudden roar of her LaFerrari pushing almost 300 kilometers per hour. She screams in delight, turning up 21 Savage’s “Immortal” so loud that the bass makes her windows shake.

Her plan works, but only barely. Y/N knows it’s because none of the boys are used to her driving style—they’d sync up soon enough. There’s only one kilometer left in the race, and she spots Kiyoomi’s S8 in seconds, surrounded by Bokuto and two cars she assumes are from Seijoh or Karasuno. She flashes her high beams at the pack, and the drivers realize that she has no intent of slowing down. They veer to the sides to let her through, and in less than ten seconds she slides past the black S8.

She doesn’t realize her mic is on when she crosses the finish line right behind Motoya, the last starter to make it through.

“I’m a fucking god,” she breathes.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” Kita says over the comms. “You’ve just sealed your spot on our permanent roster.”

She parks her car where Kita and Aran are and gets out, waiting with them to watch the rest of the racers pull in. Suna, surprisingly, overtook the twins at some point and makes good time for the Inarizaki team. Kiyoomi, Kageyama, and Kuroo are next, followed by two of Seijoh’s racers—Satori “Joker” Tendou and Hajime “Strongarm” Iwaizumi. Karasuno’s blonde, Hitoka “Buttercup” Yachi is the wildcard, beating out Akaashi and Lev; the latter’s car is missing the front bumper and one of his side mirrors is hanging by a single wire.

Atsumu and Osamu show off by drifting their way through the finish line, and with that, they seal Inarizaki’s victory. Y/N is forced into a massive group hug by the twins before Kiyoomi pulls them off her, yanking on their earlobes. She assures everyone she’s fine, and they exchange a round of high-fives. Kita actually smiles at her.

The next team to complete the race is Neko-Fukuro, narrowly beating out Seijoh. Karasuno comes in last, and everyone watches in shock as Kageyama gets out of his Lexus and begins screaming at a shorter, orange-haired man, Shouyou Hinata, about fumbling in his turns or something. It’s surprising because Hinata looks strong enough to snap Kageyama in half.

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Typical temper tantrum from a big-ass baby."

Suna hears this. “Oh, you know him well?”

“Used to.”

The one known as Ushiwaka and Aone pry Kageyama and Hinata off each other, apologizing to the other teams as Tendou and Bokuto laugh their asses off. Everyone stands there for a moment, silent as hell.

“So…” Kuroo grins, breaking the silence.

Kenma shakes his head.

“Who’s ready to fucking party?!”

—

The club had been reserved that night for the Japan Underground Racing Division. Y/N is only half-listening to Atsumu ranting over the music about “that rich bastard Oikawa showing off his daddy’s money” by hosting the after-party there.

She signals the bartender to give her another shot of vodka. She downs it like it’s water, stretching her neck from side to side.

“Hey,” Suna says, approaching Y/N and the twins. “We have a private table in the back. Let’s go.”

“Who’s there?” Osamu asks.

“Just us and the Neko-Fukuro squad.”

That seems to be a good answer for him, and he gets up before helping Y/N out of her seat. They follow Suna to the back of the club and into a roped-off section. Y/N briefly locks eyes with Kageyama, and she glares. He turns back to his team.

“Found them,” Suna announces.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t tonight’s most valuable racer,” Kuroo coos. “Nice work, Y/N.”

She nods curtly. “It was nothing. I’m glad I had these three to back me up.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Suna says, raising his glass of Hennessy.

Two hours into the seemingly endless night, Alisa leans in, her breath sweet from the four Long Island iced teas she’s had already. Y/N, who sits beside her and is just as buzzed, turns to wink at the boys around them before cupping Alisa’s face and kissing her. It’s nothing new. She’s kissed her before, after all. She slides her tongue between Alisa’s soft lips, licking up the remnants of her mixed drink. Alisa’s hands immediately go for Y/N’s breasts, squeezing gently.

Bokuto and Kuroo holler in excitement. Atsumu joins in, egging the two on.

Y/N only pulls away because Kiyoomi has pulled her back by the shoulder. “Can you please behave?”

“For fuck’s sake, Kiyo. I’m not a little girl anymore,” Y/N spits, getting up from her seat and going face to face with her stepbrother. Sure, he’s at least a head taller, but it doesn’t stop her. “Back off.”

“Control yourself, then.”

“Sorry I don’t have a stick up my ass like you! Learn to have fun, damn.”

“Easy, Hellraiser,” Suna drawls, inserting himself between the two. Kiyoomi scoffs and walks away, the door of the nearest exit slamming shut behind him. “Maybe it’s time for you to go home.”

“And see that asshole’s face there, too? No, thanks.”

“You can stay at my place, then.”

“I barely know you,” she counters.

“Then we’ll fix that.”

They barely make it through Suna’s front door before she’s got his black t-shirt over his head. He clicks his tongue and easily throws her over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, walking them into his bedroom.

“You’re impatient,” he decides, tossing her onto the king-size mattress.

“I like to get what I want.”

“And that would be me, I suppose?”

Y/N answers by kicking her boots off and unzipping her leather trousers. “If you want me to stop, I’ll leave right now.”

Suna counters by suddenly pinning her to the bed, hands locked around her wrists. “As much as it’s hot seeing you be bossy, I think you need some manners instilled in you.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to teach me, _Daddy?_ ”

His eyes narrow at her. “Open your fucking mouth.”

To her surprise, she does. How can she not, when the command goes straight between her legs, where she can also feel his knee edging dangerously close to what is currently controlling her body.

He wastes no time and spits into her mouth. “Give me more of that little attitude and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to drive in the next race.”

Y/N’s eyes widen and she nods once as she lets the taste of his spit linger in her mouth. He tastes like strawberries like she guessed, but also alcohol and something else that makes her dizzy with need.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters to himself as he inches her pants down her legs. She wants to just kick them off, but something tells her that she’d better let Suna take his time. “I’m going to make sure you forget about that fucking Kageyama prick.”

She freezes. “How do you—”

He smirks at her, one hand cupping her heat over the satin of her black panties. “You’re not the only one good at paying attention. Watch this.”

Suna gets her down to her underwear before unclasping her bra and throwing it somewhere behind him. “Oh? What’s this? Little Y/N has _another_ surprise for me? And here I thought you were just any other regular fucking slut.”

He runs his thumbs over her nipple piercings, biting his lip as he watches her writhe against his sheets. Y/N feels like she could pass out. He’s so gentle compared to how condescending his tone is. “See? You’re sensitive here… and I bet if I run my fingers right here…”

He applies the lightest touch to the insides of her outstretched arms. “…you’ll like that too.”


	2. bunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i know i edged everyone w the last chapter lmao. anyways...

They’ve been at it for all of five minutes, and Y/N swears she’ll pass out if Suna keeps teasing her with a mix of rough kisses and playful swipes at her nipple piercings. He notices the way her knees try to touch one another and he shakes his head, forcing her thighs back down to the mattress with a bruising grip.

“Come on,” she hisses as he ghosts two fingers along the lace waistband of her panties. It’s a contrast to his other hand toying with her pebbled nipples, prodding and pinching at the barbells every so often. And it all drives her insane with need. “Fuck, do something.”

He quickly pinches the flesh of her inner thigh, making her yelp. If he weren’t so _goddamn pretty_ , she would kick him without hesitation. “What happened to our manners?”

“Do something, please,” she rasps, straining under his hold. Her eyes dart to the way his biceps flex every time his arms move.

He chuckles, soothing the tender spot with the caress of his thumb. “Aren’t I doing something right now, though? I could just tie you up and leave you here until later.”

Y/N repeats her plea, forcefully this time. Her entire body is getting sticky with the amount of heat she’s radiating, sweat condensing around the dips of her collarbones.

“‘Please’ _who?_ ” he demands, letting go of her legs when he’s sure she won’t move anymore. She doesn’t understand how he can exercise so much self-control because his blown-out pupils tell her he only has one thing on his mind.

“Please… Daddy,” she whispers. She reaches a hand out to touch his chest, tempted by how well-sculpted he is, but he swats her away. “I… I…”

“‘I-I-I’ _what?_ ” he mocks, looking up at her through thick, long eyelashes. She gazes longingly into the sage galaxies that are his eyes— _damn_ , he’s beautiful. The last remnants of the alcohol in her system make her incredibly impatient.

“Need you.”

Suna gives her what she assumes is a genuine smile, judging by the way the outer corners of his eyes crinkle up. “I don’t think I’d ever get tired of hearing you say that.” He strokes her cheek with his fingers, brushing away the stray strands of hair that frame her face. Her chest heaves with her labored breathing, and he watches in amusement.

“Are you afraid of breaking me?” she tests, making him pull away.

He sits back on his haunches, now looking down at her, spread out for him. “Yes.”

Y/N shakes her head in defiance. “I can handle it.”

He laughs. “Maybe next time, princess. Have to ease you into it first.”

She huffs, crossing her arms so that her chest is covered. The diamonds on her tennis bracelet dance under the moonbeams pouring in through his bedroom window. “You act like we have all the time in the world.”

Suna shrugs, rubbing circles absentmindedly along her thighs. Her focus is on the tent in his black pants. In her state, she’ll stop at nothing to get it. She thinks it’d be the same if she were sober, too. “Well, if things go my way, we could.”

Y/N turns her head away, hoping he’ll mistake the warmth on her cheeks as alcohol flush. “Don’t act like this isn’t anything more than sex. Just fuck me already.”

He changes in an instant, and is back on top of her, locking her wrists above her head. “Keep them there. Now what did I say about that _fucking attitude?”_

She gulps—but it’s strained as his hand clasps around her neck, squeezing her jugular but allowing her to breathe. _Fuck, he knows how to do it right._

“Open up,” he growls.

Defiantly, Y/N shakes her head, earning her a disappointed click of his tongue.

“Fucking _brat._ ” With his other hand, he pinches her nose so she can’t breathe, and it forces her to open her mouth. He spits on her tongue again while he releases her neck, skimming down to dip into her panties. “To think I was going to make you ride my face since you’re so fucking wet. Another time, maybe. When you’re a _good girl_.”

His index finger skims along her slit, collecting her wetness before he smothers her clit with slow figure-eights. She keens, arching her back off the mattress to chase after his touch. He shakes his head and pushes her back down.

“Please,” Y/N rasps, trying to trap his hand between her legs. “Please, more…”

“You can do better than that, my little brat,” he coaxes, sliding her panties off. “One more time before I shut you up. _Beg_. Now.”

“Please fuck me, Suna,” she says, eyes snapped shut. She hears him finally unzip his pants, and they land on the floor moments later.

He stops toying with her, finger still wedged in between her slick lips. “Wrong.”

Shakily, she adds, “Daddy.”

“While you can still form a complete sentence, I suggest you do so,” he says, pressing his finger down harder until the tip of it covers her neglected hole. She can feel herself try to suck him in, clenching around nothing.

“Daddy, please fuck me,” she whines. “Please, please, pl—“

Suna chuckles as he takes her panties and stuffs them in her mouth, forcing her lips to close around the fabric. “So greedy. That’s a good girl. Open your eyes.”

She obeys, knowing that if she follows along he’ll give her what she wants faster.

He’s sitting in front of her, just in his underwear, cock straining against the fabric. Y/N swallows hard. It’s big. Bigger than—

“Take it out,” he commands. “Go on, I know that cute little pussy can’t wait.”

She follows his instruction, shaky hands going to tug at the elastic waistband. His skin his just as warm as hers. Her fingers hook the band and she pulls down, freeing his cock. Suna sighs as it’s exposed to the cold air of the room but laughs as he mocks Y/N yet again, noticing the way she stares at it, drool leaking out of the corners of her mouth.

It’s long and thick, with a single vein running along the underside.

“Wish you could suck it, huh? Maybe next time you’ll watch your fucking attitude, yeah?”

She replies with a muffled groan, eyes beginning to gloss over with tears as she holds the thick base of him in her right hand. Suna tenses, the muscles of his abdomen straining for him to hold his balance.

“Turn around. All fours.”

Y/N complies, panting heavily through her makeshift gag. She lets go of his cock and rests herself against the mattress on her forearms, arching her back like she’s never done before, presenting herself to him.

“Do you want this?” he asks, running a hand over the curve of her ass. She shivers at the touch. “Need your consent, bunny, ‘specially since you seem to not be anywhere near drunk anymore.”

 _Just drunk on you_ , she thinks. She gives him an enthusiastic nod.

“If it’s too much, just tap on me three times,” he says as he teases the tip of his cock between her sticky lips. “Other than that, I’m going to fucking ruin you. Can you feel how wet you are for me? Fuck.”

“Mmmmmf—” she gasps through the fabric, letting out a high-pitched cry from her throat as he eases himself into her all the way.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he mutters, grabbing her hips to rock her body back and forth on his length. “Gripping me so well… gonna fuck you so good you’ll never want anyone else.”

Y/N whines as the tip of his cock rubs up against her g-spot thoroughly with each thrust, his hips angled so that she can feel all of him. And fuck, does he feel _good._

“Hands behind your back,” he breathes as he continues to plow into her, the sound of skin slapping so loud in her ears that she can barely hear him.

She plants her face in the sheets, crossing her wrists where her spine ends, arching up even more towards him.

“Fuck, that’s a good little bunny.” Suna grabs her by the hair and tugs so her back is flush with his chest. His other hand slips around to reach into her mouth and pull the spit-soaked panties out, dropping them beside where her head was not ten seconds ago. “Let me hear you cry for me, brat.”

He pushes her back down onto the bed and pulls out until her slick walls can only clench around the head of his cock. Y/N whines at the sudden emptiness, but it turns into a full-on scream as he slams back into her repeatedly, punctuating the end of each thrust with a roll of his hips.

“Ummf-f-fuck!” she stammers out, trying to push back onto him so she can feel him even deeper. “You’re fucking m-me—s-so… so… good!”

"Fucking shit, bunny, you feel like you were made for me," Suna mutters, making her blush at the sound of his voice, deep and raspy. “Creaming around my cock so nicely… oh, fuck. So good, shit, fucking amazing."

"Fuck, Daddy, I can't, fuck, oh, Daddy, fuck, shit, daddy, harder, please," she babbles, inadvertently flexing around his length when he releases her hips in favor of playing with her nipples. She shifts so that her sticky thighs touch, trying to add more pressure to her neglected clit, but Suna pulls her legs back open, unable to handle how much the position makes her squeeze him. “Ah—!”

“Stop that, bunny, you're already so tight for me," he groans, pounding into her harder and _faster_. She can tell he’s close; his movements stutter every so often but it doesn’t matter because the knot in the pit in her stomach tightens every time he slams back inside her. ”Ugh, so wet, too. You're gonna make me cum so hard. What a sloppy little cunt. I'll be the only one to fill you up like this, mmm. You like being fucked like this, hm? Like a little slut? My slutty little bunny, that's what you are.”

Tears stream down her face as her eyes cross, tongue lolling out of her mouth when she looks at him. It seems to have an effect on him; he stills inside her, pulsing against her walls. “P-please, Daddy…”

“What do you want?” Suna asks, cocking his head while her face is squished in his hand, lips puckering up at him. “You wanna cum, bunny?”

Y/N nods feebly and tries to fuck herself back on him, but it just doesn’t feel as good, especially since her movements are restricted with her hands still behind her back. Subconsciously, she wiggles her fingers, and Suna takes notice, slotting his between hers until he’s holding her hand.

He lets go of her face and she drops back down to the bed with a soft grunt, moaning shamelessly when his other hand goes to rub her clit. Suna stops for a second and she cries out, unable to handle him edging her so ruthlessly.

“Suck on my fingers, bunny.”

After she does, making sure the thick digits are coated in her spit, he returns his attention on her clit, thrusts hard and rhythmic in an effort to get her to cum until she sees stars behind her eyelids.

“G’na… g’na cum!” she keens. “You’re gonna make me cum!”

“No,” he says. “Not until you ask nicely.”

“Please!” Y/N tries to fight against the way the hand that isn’t holding hers locks her in place. But it’s no use, he’s too fucking strong, even for her. “Suna, please!”

 _“Suna?”_ he teases, slowly sliding his cock in and out of her dripping cunt, making sure he hits her g-spot lover and over. “Who’s that?”

She begins to clamp down on him, her orgasm approaching with the speed of a bullet train. She knows that she’ll miss that train if she doesn’t correct herself—and fast. “ _Daddy_ , please! Please let me cum!”

Suna laughs, burying himself down to the hilt inside her just to watch her writhe. “Sure, bunny. Go ahead, make a mess on my cock.”

Y/N screams, biting down on the sheets in her face as she cums—hard—her pussy tightening even more as he fucks her through her orgasm.

“Fuck,” Suna spits, his thrusts losing their rhythm again. “Are you on birth control?”

Y/N hesitates before stuttering out, “It’s not like I needed it.”

“Then I guess I’ll just cum in your pussy another time, bunny. Turn over. Open your mouth.”

Still on her best behavior, she lies on her back for Suna to straddle her torso. He strokes himself until he’s cumming in her mouth, hot ropes painting her throat white while he groans loudly, head thrown back, the veins of his neck bulging. He’s still hard when she releases her lips off of him with a satisfying _pop._

“Clean up your mess,” he tells her, stroking her cheek softly as she laps up the rest of her cum that still slicks up his cock. “That’s a good girl.”

Y/N beams at the praise, making sure she licks every last drop off of him. When she’s finished, Suna gets up from the bed and heads to the bathroom, returning moments later with a warm washcloth.

“What’s that?” she asks, suddenly very aware that both of them are still very much naked.

“Gonna clean up my mess,” he states plainly. “Spread your legs.”

This time, she does the exact opposite. “What? No way.”

“It’s only fair,” he says, shrugging. “You’re sticky. After I’m done, you can get up and go pee. You might get a UFO.”

Y/N can’t hold back her laughter, covering her mouth. “You mean a UCLA?”

“No, a USB.”

“Just to be clear, you know what a UTI is, right?”

Suna rolls his eyes. “Of course I do. Why would I tell you to go to the bathroom after rearranging your insides if I didn’t? Now come on, the rag’s getting cold here.”

She relents and lets him wipe her down, staring at the ceiling in an attempt to reduce her embarrassment. But then the words leave her mouth before she can stop them. “Do you do this to every girl you sleep with?”

“I’d have to sleep with a girl, first,” he answers plainly. That shuts her up, quelling the weird pang of jealousy in her system. “Alright, get up. I’ll go get you some water.”

Y/N can’t help but get a little soft at that. He’s much, much more attentive than she’d judged, his powers of observation not just limited to racing. When she comes back from the bathroom, he has a glass of water and a painkiller waiting for her, along with a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers for her to wear.

“Didn’t think you’d want to get back into leather pants so soon,” he says, now dressed in his own shirt and boxers. He pats the space on the bed next to him. “Get dressed and we can watch something if you want.”

Y/N doesn’t have the heart to refuse; he’s being too kind for someone of the male species. _The bar is literally on the floor at this point, isn’t it?_ she asks herself. Nevertheless, she puts on his clothes and climbs into bed next to him, downing the Advil and water in one go.

“How was it?” Suna asks, his entire attention turned towards her.

She blinks at him. “The sex?”

“No, the water. I just got a new filter for the tap.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “It was good.”

“Just ‘good’?”

“Well, I don’t have a lot to compare it to, and I don’t want you getting a big head if I tell you the truth.”

“Got it. I’ll make sure to beat my high score every time, then,” he says. The thought of him fucking her again piques her interest, but her first priority is more important.

“Okay,” Y/N sighs, clasping her hands together. “I’m gonna go home now. This was fun.”

Suna’s eyebrows knit together in genuine confusion. “Why are you leaving?”

She shrugs. “So it won’t be awkward.”

“Why would it be awkward?” he asks, stretching his arms behind his head and resting against the wooden headboard. “I’ve already seen you naked.”

“Well, Tob—oh, never mind.” Seeing Kageyama earlier tonight really stirred up something in her. Especially the notion that she should never get close to anyone ever again. But maybe it was meant to happen. _Maybe Suna could_ —

“Tch. Don’t know how he ever managed to land you. Seems like a complete asshole. How’d you ever fall for him, anyways?”

She can’t look him in the eyes, in fear that she might start crying all of a sudden. “It was a long time ago. I’m better now.”

“Didn’t you get back from Italy like six months ago?”

Y/N nods, still staring at the wall in front of her. “A year. But if you’re talking about when my critical thinking skills came back, then, yeah, six months ago.”

Suna chuckles. “You’re pretty funny.”

“Thanks. It’s to cope with how much everything sucks.”

“Not everything,” he says, pinching her cheek with way less force than he was using not ten minutes before. “Because I do recall you saying that I was fucking you _so good_.”

“Don’t take anything that I say when I’m horny seriously,” Y/N shoots back.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah. And this piece of work is going to fall asleep in your bed because you won’t let her go home.”

He smiles. “Right. It’s late. Let’s get some rest. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Su—“

“Rintarou. You can call me Rintarou.”

“Goodnight, Rin.”

She’s so tired that she doesn’t see him blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL WHY ARE THEY SO CUTE????


	3. vvs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii i tweet funny shit + extra content about this fanfic on my twitter @darksidesuna

Several hours later, Y/N wakes up to a face full of ice water.

“What the fu—”

“Oh, good, you’re alive!” Atsumu exclaims, standing over her with a an empty glass and the most smug look she’s ever seen on anyone. He’s not wearing his outfit from the night before, so she assumes he isn’t as hungover as he should be. (He challenged Osamu to a shot contest—and won.)

“I am,” she seethes, wiping her forehead off with the corner of the blanket. At least most of her hair is still dry. “But if you ever do that again, you won’t be.”

He snickers, muscled arms crossing over his toned chest. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Where’s Rin?” Y/N asks, rubbing the last of her sleep from her eyes. She notices that Suna must have taken her Juul out of her pocket sometime after he got up, and it sits on his nightstand, greeting her. She remembers his words from the night before. _It’s bad for you._

“With ‘Samu. They’re making breakfast,” Atsumu answers, like she should have known that herself. “Omi told us you didn’t come home, and me and ‘Samu had a feeling you were here. The sexual tension was so fucking obvious.” He laughs. “Had a good night?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Fuck you, man. You saw how Kiyo acted at the club. There was no way I was gonna go back home.”

“Mhmm, sure. Kinda dramatic, if you ask me. I mean, fucking Suna was your alternative?”

Atsumu, she thinks, is endearingly annoying. He reminds Y/N a little of herself when she was younger. She purses her lips, contemplating her answer. She doesn’t want everyone to find out, in fear that she’d get kicked off the team or put Suna’s position in jeopardy somehow. As long as Kiyoomi doesn’t find out, everything should be fine. “I… I didn’t.”

He nods with a knowing smirk. “Oh, okay. Get out of his bed, then.”

She can’t—not without help. She’s blithely aware of the soreness between her legs. “Atsumu—”

He rests a heavy hand on her shoulder, as if to comfort her. The look in his brown eyes suggests something more along the lines of mischievousness. “We’ll keep our mouths shut, on one condition.”

She frowns. “What?”

“You let us drive your car sometime.”

What Atsumu fails to realize is that she isn’t nearly as protective of the pretty baby blue LaFerrari as she should be. “Fine. Deal.”

“‘Samu, shut up… Oh. Hey, Y/N. I think I have a wheelchair somewhere in the broom closet,” Suna says, smirking as he sips his coffee. “Want me to get it for you?”

Atsumu helps Y/N sit on one of the barstools around the kitchen island by lifting her up by the waist and setting her down on it. She winces in discomfort.

“Very funny,” Y/N mutters. Osamu puts a cup of coffee in front of her. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Don’t mind Suna,” he says. “He’s just glad he’s not a virgin anymore.”

She nearly chokes on her drink. “What?!”

“Hey, you promised you wouldn’t tell!” Suna mock-gasps. He’s shirtless, black sweatpants riding low on his hips, and holding a plate covered in whipped cream.

“They’re both kidding,” someone else pipes up. Y/N turns around to find a sleepy-looking Kenma, in plaid pajama pants and an oversized white t-shirt. “Rintarou lost it to me.”

The twins burst into a fit of laughter, each of them grabbing Suna by the arm and shaking him as he tries to swat them away. “Shut up, both of you, _please._ ”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “Kenma… you live here?”

“Unfortunately,” he yawns, padding over to the coffee maker to pour himself a cup. His hair is tied up in a low bun, pieces of his bangs framing his face. Standing next to Suna, he looks like he could be his younger brother with the way Suna towers over him. “You can tell me how good of a friend I am for letting his ass live here _after_ I have breakfast.”

“So you—”

“Don’t worry, he came home after you fell asleep,” Suna laughs, shooting her a wink. The twins both shake their heads and sit down on either side of Y/N, clearly no longer interested in the conversation in favor of the breakfast in front of them

Kenma freezes in place, almost spilling his coffee on the floor. “Wait a minute.” With his free hand, he points at Y/N. “You… and Rintarou…”

She shrugs sheepishly. It should have been obvious; she was wearing his clothes, after all. She couldn’t possibly deny having slept with Suna after all that’d been said, and she figured that Kenma was less of a liability than Atsumu. “Kuroo just kept giving me shot after shot. I couldn’t say no. And then I ended up here.”

“I’ll have a word with Kuroo later,” he says after gulping down his coffee in one go. “What an idiot. I already told him he can’t just get people drunk—”

Suna cuts in, looking over his shoulder as he stands in front of the stove. “Don’t worry… she wasn’t _that_ drunk by the time we got here. Unless being drunk on me counts.”

“Put 500 yen in the asshole jar. Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for the pancake incident yet, either,” Kenma fires back, putting his cup in the dishwasher.

“Asshole jar? Pancake incident?”

Osamu clears his throat. “Well, the asshole jar started because Suna used to suck at saving money, and he was saving up for Recaro seats for his car. So Kenma and I decided that every time he said something stupid or mean, we’d make him put money in a jar. Thus the asshole jar was born.”

“Hey! Don’t forget, I have my own jar, too,” Atsumu adds through a mouthful of pancakes that Y/N notices are completely soaked through in syrup.

“That’s the douchebag jar,” Suna clarifies, finally setting a plate down in front of Y/N. He’s made her eggs, bacon, and pancakes, with cut-up strawberries on the side. “Now, who wants to tell Y/N about the pancake incident? I told it last time.”

“Pancake incident,” Kenma begins with a sigh. “Was the single most terrifying night of my life. I almost had to go to therapy.”

“Hold on, _hold on_. Are you saying my dick is terrifying? Because I’ll have you know—”

“What more is there to know?! I’ve seen what it looks like.”

“Soft! You’ve seen it soft! It’s misleading!”

“I thank the gods every day that it was soft.”

Y/N grins. “What does Rin’s dick have to do with pancakes?” She points to her food. “Should I not eat this?”

Suna points at her with the spatula in his right hand. “Hey. You shouldn’t be talking, because—”

“Real gentlemen don’t kiss and tell,” she says, raising her eyebrows at him. “Finish the sentence. Go on.”

“Hah. She got you there, dude,” Atsumu chuckles, flicking the whipped cream at the end of his chopsticks straight at Suna’s face. It lands on his cheek. “I like her. She’s cool.”

Y/N doesn’t realize that her body is moving until her thumb is already swiping across his skin, wiping off the sticky sweetness and spooning it into her mouth. Everyone stares at her for a moment.

“As I was saying,” Kenma says, breaking the silence. “Basically, one night, Rintarou group-facetimed me and the twins. He was kinda shitfaced, I think.”

“ _Kinda?_ My blood was basically sake by the time I called.”

“Can you let me finish?”

“Yeah, I’m good at that.” Suna shoots a wink at Y/N and she goes back to eating her food, heat rising up in her cheeks. For two street racers, he and Osamu are really fucking good at cooking.

“Asshole jar,” Osamu announces through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “Kenma, go on. You haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”

“Sometimes I regret my life choices,” Kenma mutters before continuing the story. “Like I was _saying_ , Suna called us because he wanted to show us that he was making pancakes for dinner. But he was completely naked… and we wouldn’t have known that he was _if he didn’t drop his phone on the floor with the front camera still on_.”

Y/N swallows her last bite before bursting into a fit of laughter, alongside Atsumu, who is on the verge of falling out of his chair. “You’re kidding me!”

“We wish,” Osamu says. “‘Tsumu and I went to high school with Suna and we went that long without seeing his dick. Or his fucking balls, for that matter. And now it’s almost an official rule that he can’t be on his phone past eight at night.”

Y/N looks back up at Suna, who looks almost unbothered by the whole thing. “You’re not gonna defend yourself?”

“Nope. I wish someone screen recorded it so I could watch it sober. The pancakes were delicious, by the way.”

She shakes her head. “You’re so weird.”

Atsumu gets up and, surprisingly, washes his empty dish in the sink. Y/N didn’t think he was housebroken like that, honestly. “‘Samu, we should go soon. Give the lovebirds some time alone.”

Osamu nods. “Yeah. I can’t wait to be an uncle.”

“Hey!” Y/N begins. “It’s not like that!”

“Can I come?” Kenma asks, grimacing at the way Suna is making puppy eyes at Y/N. “You won’t even notice that I’m there.” He turns to Y/N, his expression now blank. She can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”

“Ooh, I love secrets!” Atsumu cheers. “Okay, let’s go, Kenma! I got the new Call of Duty for the PS5.”

Kenma runs back to his room to get dressed. He reappears in a pair of black sweatpants and a red hoodie with the Neko-Fukuro crest embroidered on the left sleeve.

“There’s a meeting tonight,” Osamu says. He looks at Suna warily. “Try not to be late.”

“When am I ever late?”

“Literally all the time. Anyways, see you later. Don’t forget about the dress code.”

Y/N frowns. “What’s the dress code?"

  
“Formal,” Kenma answers, twirling his keyring around his index finger. “It’s a rule from the bosses. Also, feel free to make Rintarou put money in the asshole jar if he gets to be too much. See you later.”

The apartment is too quiet without the twins around. Especially Atsumu, who chews too loudly. But it calms Y/N’s throbbing headache as she sits on the couch, lazily drinking the third glass of water Suna has given her that morning.

“So,” he says, turning the TV off. “Tell me about Kageyama.”

She tenses in her seat, grip tightening around the glass like it’s the gearshift of her car. “What do you wanna know?”

He shrugs. His right arm is slung over the back of the couch, hand right behind her neck.“Everything. Why you’re so mad at him. What happened?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Do you always answer questions with more questions?” he groans, running an impatient hand through his hair.

“You don’t need to know. Why is it so important?”

“Because we’re on the same team, and he’s a rival of ours now, apparently. You can just tell me whatever you’re comfortable with. I won’t judge.”

She huffs. Why does he have to be so accommodating? “Fine. But you’re going to get interrogated after me.”

“You’re a good negotiator, I see. Alright, I’ll bite. Go ahead.” Suna gestures for her to start talking.

“I dated him back in Italy. Almost the entire time I was there—so, like, four years, give or take.” She sets the glass down on the coffee table and crosses her arms, willing herself to not get lost in a thought-spiral.

“Wait, hold on. Clarify something for me. Last night you said you came back to Japan a year ago. But Sakusa told us you got back six months ago.”

Y/N purses her lips. “That’s because I didn’t tell anyone. I did return a year ago, for a few months. I only came _home_ six months ago, after I went back to Italy to pick up the car myself.”

“Where did you stay when you were keeping a secret?”

“With Alisa, at her apartment.”

Suna blinks like he’s processing her answer carefully. “And you kissed her last night.”

“Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s a little complicated.”

“She your girlfriend or something?”

Y/N shakes her head. “No. Our friendship doesn’t really have, uh, boundaries, I guess.”

“You rebounded with her after Kageyama, didn’t you?”

“What the f—how did you possibly guess that?”

He laughs softly, picking up her legs and draping them across his lap. She instantly melts into his touch as he rubs soothing circles into her ankles. “Just a hunch. Plus I saw the way she looked at you. I don’t blame her, though.”

“Yikes. Okay, so, about you—”

“I’m not done with you yet,” he tuts, giving her a little pinch. “Why did you and him break up?”

Y/N suppresses a smile. “Damn, if I knew hooking up with you meant that you were also going to psychoanalyze me, I think I should have just gone home.”

The wounded look on Suna’s face is so pretty, like a statue carved by the gods and gifted to mankind. “Ouch.”

“Kidding. We broke up because—I don’t know if it’s obvious to you or not—he’s an asshole. Very controlling. Never made time for me. I respected the fact that he was passionate about racing, but… you can only let yourself be second place for so long, y’know? It was worse because we were on the same team. He constantly scolded me for everything I was doing wrong. I’m pretty sure he stalled my race debut on purpose, too. I practiced for, like, three years before—I’ve said too much.”

He smiles fondly at her, stroking the smooth skin of her shins. “No, it’s okay. How do you feel?”

“I shouldn’t be opening up to strangers,” she says, unable to hold eye contact with him for more than three seconds at a time. “Sorry, it’s been a while since anyone’s asked me if I’m okay.”

“What did I tell you about us being strangers? We’ll fix that.”

“Why do you want to do that? Usually guys will—”

“I’m not them. You’ve been fucking with the wrong guys, clearly. I like you. I think you’re pretty fucking cool, and you get along with the boys. Plus, watching you drive is _spectacular_.”

Y/N blushes. “Rin, you sound like a simp. Go on, keep complimenting me.”

She doesn’t expect him to leap across the couch and tickle her.

After she manages to pin him down—just barely—Y/N picks up the black book on the coffee table, opening it to reveal a photo album, hundreds of Polaroids spread out across the pages. There were photographs of Suna with the twins, Kita, and Aran in their school uniforms,him and Atsumu on motorcycles, Osamu in Atsumu’s headlock, Kita holding a massive trophy, Aran in mechanic’s overalls, Suna wearing cat ears, and then—

—a girl. Two girls, actually. One of them looked just like him, same piercing eyes, same milk chocolate hair. The other one was short, with long black hair cut into the Hime style, her arms wrapped tightly around Suna’s torso.

“That’s my sister, Hanako,” he says, pointing to the taller girl with the vulpine face. She’s nothing short of stunning. Y/N bets his parents must be equally as good-looking. “She’s a couple years younger than me.”

“And this one?” She hopes he can’t hear the edge in her voice. The finger that’s pointing at the other girl is shaking ever so slightly. Did she just sleep with a guy in a relationship?

“Ahmya. My ex-girlfriend.”

No, she didn’t.

He takes the photograph out of the album gingerly. “Huh. I was sure I got rid of her from here.” In seconds, he tears the picture in half, tossing the fragment with only Ahmya in it to the floor and kicking it under the rug. “There we go.”

“I take it you two didn’t end well?”

Suna rolls his eyes. “I mean, she did cheat on me and destroy my whole life.”

“What do you mean by destroy?”

“Eh, I’m not one to badmouth.”

Y/N really wants to know what happened for him to say that. Plus, it’s only fair that he tell her after she’d given him the SparkNotes version of her adult life. “It’s not badmouthing if it’s the truth.”

“Well, she was the reason I picked up smoking. I was so stressed all the time, knowing that she was off cheating on me or doing who knows what with my money. Burning right through it or whatever. Two years. I spent two years living like that.”

She puts her hand over his, knowing the feeling all too well: of someone consuming you whole, until there’s not much left you can save. “Once you get a taste of love, you’ll never stop trying to chase that high, ever again.”

Suna takes her hand and lifts it up to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “You get it, don’t you?”

There’s approximately three hours before the meeting. Y/N knows she should go home to get ready, but Suna managed to convinced her to call Alisa and have her bring some stuff over. Alisa, absolutely ecstatic over the fact that Y/N is with Suna, rushes over to drop off a makeup bag and a change of clothes suitable for the enforced dress code.

“What the fuck,” Y/N mutters as she unzips the garment bag. It’s one of Alisa’s designer gowns, cherry red silk with a bustier top and body-hugging skirt. There’s also a matching pair of black stiletto sandals to go with it. “She’s totally fucking with me.”

Suna lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Alisa’s got good taste. Can’t wait to see you in it.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “In it? Or out of it?”

He throws a bath towel at her, hitting her square in the head. “Just get in the shower.”

“Are you gonna come, too?” Y/N asks as she drapes the towel over her shoulder and heads for his bathroom.

“On your face, yeah.”

“Asshole jar!” she calls out, turning the water on.

He didn’t lie, though. She can’t resist him once his shirt comes off. Not three minutes later, Y/N is on her knees, Suna’s back facing the shower head so the water doesn’t get in her eyes. Her wet hair is fisted in his left hand while his right holds the base of his cock, tapping the head playfully against her tongue.

“You’re so cute,” he muses. The lewd slapping noise is all she can focus on, besides the fact that she can see every single droplet of water cascade down his chiseled abs. “Wish you could see yourself right now. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Go ahead, sweetheart. Suck on it.”

Y/N inhales deeply before she takes as much of him as she can in her mouth, his tip sliding down the back of her relaxed throat. She hollows out her cheeks and bobs her head, squeezing her thighs together to alleviate some of the ache between her legs.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans. “What a good little girl.”

She closes her eyes and keeps going, but he pulls out of her mouth, making her whine. “What—”

“Eyes on me, bunny. Look at me while I fuck your throat.”

So Y/N does. She can feel herself getting stickier with need, and reaches down to rub her clit as Suna continues to use her mouth as he pleases. Her jaw is sore, but the pain is masked by the feeling of two of her own fingers pumping into her equally sore cunt.

“Stick your tongue out,” he groans, his pupils dilated so wide all she can see is darkness in his eyes. “Gonna give you my cum, pretty. You want it?”

Drool slips down her chin as she nods eagerly, tightening around her dainty fingers.

He’s condescending in his tone. “Aw, are you gonna cum with me? Is my pretty bunny gonna be a good girl and cum?”

Y/N nods again.

“Alright, cum for me. _Now._ ”

Her eyes squeeze shut as she clamps down on her hand, rocking back and forth against her palm while Suna shoots his load into her open mouth, some of his hot cum landing on her cheeks. He uses his thumb to scrape it up and pops his finger in her mouth, and she sucks on it without having to be told.

Releasing his thumb from the tight seal of her lips, he picks Y/N up from the floor and sets her down on the shower bench, spreading her legs apart. Now he’s the one kneeling in front of her as he laps at the fingers that were just inside of her.

“W-what are you doing?”

Y/N thinks she can die happy now that she’s seen the image of his head between her thighs. “Cleaning you up, duh. You thought that was just a one-time thing?”

“I mean, I thought it was just a one-night sta—ah!” She’s cut off by his tongue licking a broad stripe up her cunt, the tip of his tongue stopping right at her swollen clit.

“You’re sweet,” he groans. “Gonna make you cum again, then I’ll wash your hair after.”

She looks down at him and he smiles at her. She shakes her head. “You’re weird, you know that?”

“Sure, but I’m the one who’s gonna make you cum again,” Suna smirks, not once breaking eye contact as he slides two fingers easily in her cunt, curling them upwards to gently stroke the spongy patch deep inside her.

“A-ah! Rin! Too much, Rin!” she gasps, feeling him press up harder on her G-spot while he sucks on her clit.

His voice is quiet but firm. “You sound so cute when you’re crying my name, kitty. Are you gonna give me another one?”

“Mmm… mhmm…” she keens, arching herself up off the bench.

“Words, kitty.”

Y/N’s thighs twitch, hands clawing at his shoulders. The steam from the shower makes it even more difficult for her to catch her breath. She can feel her orgasm deep inside her, warm and electric and ready to pop. “G’na cum, Rin, you’re making me cu—uh!”

“Good girl, such a good girl for me,” Suna purrs. He presses a kiss to her clit before pulling his fingers out of her, watching as her hole clenches around nothing. “Okay, _now_ we can shower. Don’t worry about standing. I’ll take care of you.”

Damn it. He’s making it so hard for her not to like him.

She sits back and lets him wash her hair as he said he would, and he’s very careful not to hurt her in any way. It’s actually quite tender, and her mind drifts to the possibility that this could be more than a one-time thing, that she could mix business with pleasure and not fuck it up again, that he was going to prove all her assumptions about men wrong.

Suna dries her off when they’re done and leaves quickly, only to return with a glass of water. “Here you go. Was I too rough?”

She’s too proud to admit that the heat rising in her face isn’t from the hot shower. “No, no… it was fine.”

He frowns. “Just fine?”

“Do you like having your ego stroked?”

“Among other things, yeah.”

“Asshole jar, Rintarou Suna.”

“Really? Using my government name now? After I made you—”

“Oh, shut up and go get dressed.”

“How do I look?” Suna asks, turning around. Y/N thinks she has to pick her jaw up off the floor; he’s wearing a black suit tailored to fit him perfectly, with a black shirt that has the top three buttons undone, exposing the top of his chest.

“Like maybe we should skip the meeting,” she finally manages to answer. She’s sitting on his bed, still wearing her towel despite having finished her hair and makeup. Rintarou, besides Kiyoomi, is the only man she knows that owns a hair dryer.

He grins, facing the mirror again to adjust his collar. “‘Samu and I made a bet. If I show up late, I owe him money. Unfortunately for you, I don’t like to lose. Besides, I think you deserve a break.”

Y/N drops the towel and pulls the gown on. Y/N catches her reflection behind him. Leave it to Alisa to pick such a perfect dress. “You treat me like I’m made of glass,” she huffs. “Don’t be so careful.”

“Maybe I’ll hurt you,” Suna says.

She looks up at him with a smile. “And maybe I’ll let you.”

“Stop it,” he hisses. Suna sets his glass of whiskey down on the table so hard that the ice cubes rattle around. Thankfully, everyone is buzzed just enough to not notice that her hand is trailing up his thigh.

The meeting went fine, for the most part. There was just too much talking for Y/N’s liking; all she wanted to do was explore the boss’ mansion, where he’d invited Inarizaki and Neko-Fukuro to collect their payouts and have dinner. Y/N thinks it’s weird that none of the actual bosses are there, but doesn’t care enough to ask.

Now, they were in the basement, which was built like a private club, with dim lighting, leather couches, and a fully-stocked bar. Kuroo, Yaku, Lev, and Bokuto are at the bar, pounding back shots of vodka like they weren’t just drinking the night before, while Motoya, Konoha, Akaashi, and Kenma watch Aran play a game of darts against Kiyoomi. Y/N hasn’t said a word to her stepbrother the entire night, not wanting to be the first one to cave in again.

She bites back a smile before whispering back, “I’m bored.”

Suna rolls his eyes. “Did I not fuck you hard enough to make you sit still?”

“I’m just _bored_ , Rin. Where’s Kita?”

“Getting our payout from the boss. Just relax.”

“Hmph.”

Y/N suddenly stands and grabs Atsumu off the couch, begging him to turn the music up so they can dance while the others are doing their own thing. She spots Osamu standing by himself in a corner, drinking a beer, and pulls him along. She gives them a dazzling smile and begins to sway her hips to the beat of “te pongo mal” by Kali Uchis.

She feels Osamu stand behind her, his gentle hands on her waist. Atsumu is in front of her, holding her by the hips.The twins know how to keep up a rhythm, she’ll admit. She raises her hands over her head, grinding against Osamu, then Atsumu. Back and forth, back and forth, back and—

And then the music stops.

“Oi. Can you three behave?” Suna says, dropping the plug of the speaker onto the floor. He crosses his arms, frowning at the three who are standing stock still. “Kita said he didn’t want a repeat of what happened at the last three meetings."

“We were just bored, Rin,” Y/N mutters, hiding behind Atsumu.

“Oh, jealous, Suna?” Osamu chuckles.

Suna scoffs. “What for? You already know the secret.”

“Y/N,” someone calls out. It’s Kita, coming down the stairs holding a green velvet jewelry box. “Time for your initiation.”

Everyone in the basement stops what they’re doing to gather around the long table in the center of the room, watching as Y/N walks towards Kita. She catches Kenma’s eye, and he gives her a thumbs-up accompanied by a soft smile.

“The boss had these made for you. Everyone has one.”

Kita opens the box. Inside are two glittering white gold chains. The first has a teardrop-shaped pink sapphire, hanging by its pointed end from a 3 karat diamond. Like all the other racers, the second necklace has her own last initial, an English letter “S,” for Sakusa.

“Welcome to the team, Y/N,” Kita continues with a polite smile. “We’re glad to have you with us.”

She didn’t realize that Suna had followed her to the head of the table, and is surprised when he’s the one to put the necklaces on for her, asking her to lift her hair up, his fingertips grazing her bare skin.

What she doesn’t miss, however, is the scowl on Kiyoomi’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun facts:  
> \- y/n is scared of grapes and can’t explain why.  
> \- suna replaced the oral fixation (that he got from cigarettes) with lollipops.  
> \- atsumu believes he’s lactose intolerant but actually he just eats too much.  
> \- osamu is kenma’s favorite twin because kenma has never had an apple pie better than osamu’s


	4. 678-999-8212

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i have a discord server now, just ask me for the link or something i'll try to keep it updated on my linktree but no promises lol  
> twitter/tiktok @darksidesuna
> 
> strap in bc we're going on a rollercoaster starting....... now

A month had passed since the first race, and in that time, Y/N had become an integral part of the Inarizaki team, spending most of her time at Aran’s garage with the rest of the team. The fact that she and Kiyoomi were barely speaking was an afterthought as her mind was totally consumed on getting used to her teammates’ driving styles, helping Aran come up with upgrades and design concepts for their cars, and listening to Kita’s lectures about strategy and gut instincts.

Also—most importantly—she’d been hanging out with Suna a lot.

Like, a lot.

After the dinner meeting, he’d handed her his phone and asked her to enter her number in it. She hadn’t even gotten into her bedroom before he was already texting her asking if she’d gotten home safe. They ended up staying up until four in the morning talking to one another. This eventually led to them hooking up at least three times a week, or sometimes even going out to eat together, no sex involved. She even let him drive the LaFerrari several times, in exchange for him massaging her feet.

The upside to them spending so much time together was that she didn’t have to worry about him hooking up with someone else the way she did with—never mind.

Occasionally the twins would come along, and sometimes Kenma, if he wasn’t busy streaming or already hanging out with Kuroo. Y/N had never had this many friends before, especially after she and her mother moved to Tokyo and she began high school at Itachiyama. Sometimes she thought about Sachirou and Kourai and wondered if they’d get along with everyone in her new life. They’d probably be just as protective over her as they were the six or so times they met Kiyoomi, and she’d occasionally consider calling them to update them on her life, even though they haven’t spoken in a year. She missed them—a lot—and hoped they weren’t too mad at her ghosting them out of embarrassment.

All of her plans quickly slowed as cherry blossom season began in April, a signal of the start of the school year. She’d enrolled at the University of Tokyo to finish her degree that she was a year away from completing, having dropped out of Sapienza back in Italy after the four-hour commute every weekend from Maranello to Rome became too time-consuming for her to keep justifying.

And now it’s Monday morning, and Y/N is sitting in the back of the half-empty lecture hall, waiting for her business class to begin. She’s struggling to keep her eyes open; Suna kept her up late the night before because he insisted on falling asleep together on FaceTime, arguing that it helped him calm down.

She’s broken out of her sleepy trance by the sound of someone speaking to her.

“Hey, are these seats taken?”

Y/N looks up from her laptop only to see Kenma, standing next to a very tired-looking Akaashi. “Oh… hi, Kenma, Akaashi. Go ahead, I don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” Akaashi smiles, setting his backpack down on the desk to Y/N’s left.

“Did Rin send you guys to pull a prank on me?” she asks.

Akaashi shakes his head. “No, we’re actually in this class.”

“Someone say my name?” someone asks. It’s Suna, strolling in through the door behind the three, without a care in the world.

Y/N spins around in her seat. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Kita just told me he’s sending me to Hyogo. I have an errand to run with ‘Samu, picking a shipment up. We’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, though,” he answers, looking directly in her eyes. He’s dressed in his usual outfit: a black t-shirt and black cargo pants, with a pair of crisp white Nike Air Force 1s. And he’s holding something behind his back, indicated by the way neither of his hands are visible.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here, Rin,” she pouts, crossing her arms.

“Oh… oh, yeah! You said you didn’t have time to eat anything this morning. So I came to bring you some food.” He brandishes the McDonald’s paper bag and iced coffee. “Also so I could get a goodbye kiss from you before I head out. Make it quick, though. ‘Samu’s waiting in the parking lot.”

Kenma snorts as he pulls out his laptop. “You’re going to Hyogo. Not off to war. Chill out.”

“Hey now, no need to get so hostile, Captain Le—”

“Call me that and I’ll kick your ass. You don’t get a pass just because you’re not Lev.”

“Aww. Poor kitty didn’t get his milk this morning?”

“You son of a—”

Y/N turns to Akaashi. She’s talked to him a few times, and he’s very nice, despite being so quiet. She gravitates towards Akaashi and Kenma during these hangouts, especially after Suna and the twins have tired her out with one of their stunts. “You know about me and Rin, I’m guessing?”

Akaashi’s eyes are very, very blue up close. He fidgets with his fingers as he talks. “It’s pretty obvious, honestly. Bokuto and Kuroo have a bet going on to see when you two will end up together.”

“Oh. Yikes. That’s… embarrassing.” She points at Kenma and Suna, who are still bickering, getting up in each other’s faces. “This is regular for them, isn’t it?”

He nods, a slight smile on his face. “Yeah. You, uh, you heard about what happened between Suna and Ahmya, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Kenma was the one who took Suna in after they broke up, ‘cause the poor bastard was broke and everything. Then Suna started permanently racing for Kita, and now he pays rent. So, yeah, you see them catfight a lot… but really, they love each other like brothers.”

Y/N feels a tap on her shoulder, drawing her attention away from Akaashi. It’s Suna.

“Yes, Rin?”

He points to his cheek. “Kiss. So I can go.”

She hears Kenma mutter something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like “Simp.” But she stands up regardless, getting on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips instead. He deliberately makes it hard for her to pull away.

“Be careful,” she whispers into his ear.

Suna pats her on the top of her head fondly. “Don’t worry. I will. I’ll text you when we get there. Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so full of yourself.”

“Take care of her while I’m gone,” he says to Kenma, who only nods.

Y/N frowns. “I’m not a pet!”

He smirks, pinching her cheeks. “Sure you aren’t, bunny.”

She spends the rest of the lecture burning bright red, Kenma and Akaashi occasionally laughing quietly at her flustered state.

“So, just friends, huh?” Kenma teases Y/N as they walk out of the classroom and back to the parking lot. Y/N took the train to school that morning, not wanting to bring the LaFerrari and have it get scratched by some careless student. Akaashi had suggested they go out somewhere for a meal since they all only had one class that day. “You practically live at our apartment. Should I get you a copy of our key?”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, adjusting the strap of her black Goyard tote bag on her shoulder. She’s never actually been berated by Kenma, but she thinks that he’s probably a little wary of her because he doesn’t want a repeat of the “Ahmya incident arc”. She doesn’t blame him. The stories she’s heard from the twins makes her blood boil scalding hot every time she thinks about them. “Not my fault I just happen to prefer Rin over Omi. Plus, he already gave me a key.”

“Are you fucking—”

“Oi! You three!” a familiar voice barks. It’s all too familiar to Y/N; she’s heard it almost every day for the past month, echoing around Aran’s garage, trying to pick a fight with Osamu—or even Suna, for that matter. She’s made fun of the way the Kansai dialect pops out every once in a while. “Oi!”

“Fuck,” Kenma mutters, eyeing Akaashi. He pockets his phone. “Can we make a run for it?”

“Afraid not,” Akaashi answers grimly, although Y/N notices that he picks up the pace at which he’s walking at. She really doesn’t want to have to run; it’ll crease the mocha Jordan 1s she bought on a whim after seeing Rin sporting a pair at one of the many driving practices they were forced to attend. “They’re too close behind. Not like last time.”

“What happened last time?” she asks him.

“Well…”

“Kenma, I know you’re ignoring us!” someone else yells. It sounds a lot like Kuroo’s playful tone, laced with hints of mischief. Y/N thinks that behind his cocky facade, he’s really a dork. It’s been proven by the countless times he’s cornered her at hangouts to test her knowledge of Harry Potter, of all things.

“Fucking shit.” Kenma turns around, and she and Akaashi follow suit. At this point, the trio following them are no more than six feet away. “What do you want?! Why are you guys here?”

“To hang out, obviously. Right, Tsum-Tsum?” Bokuto says, elbowing Atsumu. To Y/N, Bokuto is a golden retriever in human form. He looks threatening because of how big and burly he is, but no one can resist his puppy eyes or infectious laugh. She’d really hate to see him mad, she thinks. The nicest ones are always the most terrifying.

Atsumu nods eagerly, scanning Y/N for any sign of her car keys. He got to drive the LaFerrari once and hasn’t been able to shut up about it since. “Yeah, duh. Plus, we were bored.”

“So you delinquents decided to ambush us at school?” Kenma asks with a look of distaste. Y/N enjoys the fact that his face can get so expressive, especially because both of them (along with Suna) suffer from heavy resting bitch face. “Don’t you have a furry convention to attend or something?”

“Please. That’s next week,” Atsumu cackles. Kuroo facepalms and Bokuto doubles over in laughter. “Let’s go eat somewhere.”

“With what money?” Y/N sneers. “Last time I checked, you were broke.”

“Yeah, because I got a new car, asshole,” he shoots back, arms crossed. “You’re gonna love it. It’s American.”

“American cars are shit.”

“Not this one! It’s a real pussy magnet!”

“Douchebag jar, Atsumu. Now.”

“Oh, shit, fuck,” Kenma grumbles as he catches his reflection in the ramen shop’s window. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong, Kyanma?” Y/N asks, peering over his shoulder.

“I need to bleach my hair. But last time I asked Kuroo to help me, he also bleached my fucking eyebrows.”

“Who usually does your hair?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Go ahead and try me.”

“Rintarou does it.”

“Oh. Oh, wow. Not who I was expecting.”

“I know. He’s one talented motherfucker.”

“Yeah, he is… I can probably help you. I’ve dyed my hair before.”

“Have you ever used bleach?”

“I’m bisexual. Of course I have.”

And that’s how Y/N found herself washing Kenma’s hair in the sink of his garage, wearing one of his boiler suits to protect her clothes from getting stained. She’s barefoot, her shoes stashed somewhere in Atsumu’s car.

Speaking of Devil Twin Number One—he isn’t spared from the impromptu salon day. Y/N had told him that his hair was looking a little brassy, and now he sits on the trunk of his car with his head covered in toner and plastic wrap.

“Is it my turn yet? My scalp’s burning.”

“Yeah, yeah, hold on,” she calls back. “Make yourself useful and get me a beer from the fridge.”

“Yes, mommy,” Atsumu says.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“After you wash my hair.”

Three hours later, Y/N sits on a folding chair, holding her third bottle of sake that she takes occasional sips from. She’s at the track with the boys, watching them take turns drifting around corners in Atsumu’s new white Dodge Hellcat. Bokuto and Kuroo are super aggressive, she notes, while Akaashi and Kenma make the most calculated movements.

Atsumu, though, brags about how no one can drift as well as he can from where he sits beside her. “It’s a natural talent, I suppose,” he says from beside her.

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just say you like sticking your e-brake up your ass and go.”

“You’re lucky Suna likes you, or I’d beat your—”

“Wait, what do you mean he likes me?” she asks, setting the half-empty bottle down on the cement.

“The bastard never stops talking about you,” he answers cooly before taking a swig from his own bottle. By Y/N’s count, he’s finished off a whole six-pack already. “It’s annoying, but it’s kinda cute. Good to see my boy happy again.”

Y/N doesn’t believe in taking advantage of anyone while they’re drunk, but Atsumu’s lips are looser than usual. She won’t tell anyone, but yeah, she’s caught feelings for Rin after spending so much time with him. He’s practically her best friend at this point, if best friends slept with each other several times a week (sometimes several times a day, honestly). All the pictures in their phones of each other is just more proof that they work so well together.

It’s embarrassing, to say the least. They’ve been caught napping on the couch together by Kenma more times than she can count, and she won’t even begin to process the terror that is someone knowing the smallest, most intimate yet insignificant details about her, like what her favorite color is or how she likes her coffee in the morning. Y/N promised herself she wouldn’t fall for anyone any time soon, but the whole Tobio thing finally blew over a year ago and she was starting to believe that maybe she _did_ deserve good things to happen to her.

“You’re saying… he ‘ _like’_ likes me,” she says, confirming what she’s been denying all along. Her eyes are trained on the Hellcat, which is currently being driven by Akaashi, with Bokuto in the passenger seat. Kenma is right behind him with Kuroo at the wheel of a red Nissan GTR.

Atsumu scoffs, elbowing Y/N in the arm. “What are we? Middle schoolers? The man’s whipped for you. It’s so obvious. You’re probably just trying to ignore it.”

Fuck. He’s as perceptive off the road as he is when he’s driving. “So what if I am? So… so _what_ if I want to find something that’s so wrong with him that it’ll make me run away?”

“You’re scared of being hurt, aren’t you?” he asks quietly, almost inaudible over the sound of Kenma’s modified engine.

“Tch. No one hurts me, _Miya_.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy, darlin’.” She notices that Atsumu’s accent is becoming more and more prominent the longer the alcohol has time to set in his bloodstream. “We don’t get to decide that. It just happens.”

“That’s unfair, don’t you think?”

“There’s no part of life that’s fair.”

She picks her bottle back up off the ground and clinks it against Atsumu’s. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Do you know where Suna’s going?” he asks after several moments of silence.

Y/N shrugs. “He said Hyogo. Isn’t that where you guys are from, originally? Besides Rin. He’s from Aichi, I know that.”

“Yeah. We all went to high school together, as you know. But, uh, him and ‘Samu are running an errand for Kita.”

“I know that, too.”

“The errand is actually for Boss Ukai.”

“Oh. You mean that guy who didn’t show up to our team meeting, right?”

“‘That guy’ is also the one cutting our checks, dumbass. Guy's a bit of an introvert, so he never really makes an appearance at things like that unless he absolutely _has_ to.”

“And… what’s the errand?”

“They’re going to Kobe. There’s a port there, and a ship’s gonna to arrive tonight carrying a delivery.”

“Fuck’s sake, ‘Tsumu, cut the suspense,” she groans. Atsumu has a knack for telling five stories before getting to the point, so it’s imperative for her to keep him focused.

“Guns, Y/N. It’s an illegal import of guns, and Boss Ukai had to smuggle them in so none of them can be traced back to us.” As Bokuto zooms past them, now the one behind the wheel of the Hellcat, Atsumu yells, “Slow down, asshole! I don’t like my tires how I like pussy!”

Y/N swears some of the sake shoots out of her nose. “Bald?”

“Yeah.”

“Douchebag jar, Atsumu. Make it double.”

“Fine.”

Finishing her drink in relative peace, she asks, “Now what the fuck do we need guns for?”

“You joined the team at a really weird time, honestly. That’s why I don’t blame Omi for trying to keep you away from us.”

“If you’re gonna side with him now, I don’t think I can be friends with you anymore,” she mutters. “He needs to learn to leave me alone and mind his own business. I’m a grown-ass woman.”

“I mean, we _are_ about to get into a huge-ass gang war sometime soon. I know we’re technically just racers, but the boss wants all of us armed and ready. It’s the rumors these days: the bosses that Karasuno and Seijoh work for are going to try and take over our turf in Shibuya _and_ Shinjuku. And we can’t let that happen. Old Man Ukai is a fucking menace and he’s definitely going to shake down the businesses we protect.”

“Wait a minute. Our boss… Ukai? And the ‘old man’? Are they related?”

Atsumu nods with a loud burp. She kicks him in the shin. “Yeh. They are. Keishin Ukai, _our_ boss, is the old man’s son. I guess he’s not really _that_ old, but—”

“How the fuck do two family members run separate gangs?”

“A difference in principles, my little onigiri. Kinda like you and Omi-Omi, I suppose. Although with way less teenage angst.”

“Shut up.”

“What’re ya gonna do?” he drawls. “Make me? ‘Cause Suna would—”

“Shut up, Atsumu.”

That night, Y/N is so shitfaced that she barely notices Atsumu’s hand fly up to pull down the hem of her black miniskirt so it covers her ass completely and keeps her from flashing everyone. He’s actually quite protective of her, but not in the overbearing way that Kiyoomi is. She’s standing on top of one of Kenma’s workbenches and belting out the lyrics to Mitski’s “Washing Machine Heart” as loud as she can. Surprisingly, she’s still in tune, and actually sounds pretty good.

 _“Do mi ti… why not me? WHY… NOT… MEEEEEEE,”_ she cries dramatically, swaying side to side with an empty bottle of Sapporo as her fake microphone.

“Good grief, who let her on AUX?” Akaashi asks. He’s trying so hard not to let the smile spread across his flushed cheeks, but Kuroo and Bokuto somehow also know the words to the song and have joined in as her backup singers. “They’re going to start crying any minute now, and I’m too drunk to deal with Bokuto.”

Kenma sighs as he ties his hair back up into his signature low bun. He’s the only one who’s anywhere near sober at this point. “I did. That’s my bad. Had no idea she was a simp kind of drunk.”

Akaashi is suddenly pulled onto the workbench by Bokuto and Kuroo; Y/N passes him the fake microphone as the song shifts to “National Anthem” by Lana Del Rey.

Atsumu laughs, handing Kenma a can of Red Bull. “She’s not. I think she actually just—”

“—misses Rintarou?” he finishes. He rolls his eyes. “Ugh, they’re so gross.”

“Seriously. How long do you think before they confess to each other? ‘Samu said one more month.”

“From what I know about Y/N, it’ll take longer than that. I think Rintarou will cave first, honestly.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Sure.”

“Ten-thousand Yen.”

“…I don’t have that kind of money right now.”

“Borrow some from Osamu, then. It’s not worth betting on if we go any lower.”

Atsumu hesitates before caving in. “Fine. Ten-thousand says Y/N will confess first.”

“Should we call him right now and see?”

Kenma checks the time on the home screen of his iPhone. “Yeah, why not? They should have gotten there like an hour ago.” He scrolls through his contacts and presses the FaceTime option by Suna’s number.

“How’s my favorite Discord kitten?” comes the smug voice on the other end of the line.

“Fuck, I hate you so much,” Kenma groans.

“Yeah, yeah, love you, too, dickwad. Is she with you?”

“Mhmm.”

“HI, SUNA!” Atsumu hollers into the microphone, trying to catch Y/N’s attention. Unfortunately, she and the other three men are full-on serenading each other, too focused on trying to stay balanced on the workbench that still hasn’t crumbled from the sheer mass of Bokuto’s thighs.

“Hello, my least-favorite twin. Where is she?”

Kenma flips the camera so that Suna can see the view: Y/N full-on _murdering_ the bridge of the song, drunkenly swaying her hips as she croons into the mouth of the empty bottle.

_“It’s a love story for the new age, for the sixth page_

_we’re on a quick sick rampage_

_wining and dining, drinking and driving,_

_excessive buying, overdose and dying_

_on our drugs, and our love, and our dreams, and our rage,_

_blurring the lines between real and the fake_

_dark and lonely, I need somebody to hold me_

_he will do very well, I can tell, I can tell,_

_keep me safe in his bell tower hotel…”_

“Damn, didn’t know she could do that,” Suna muses. “Put her on the phone for me, yeah?”

“Oi, Miss Hellraiser!” Atsumu shouts, disconnecting Y/N’s phone from the surround sound speakers. “ _Someone_ wants to talk to you.”

The frown disappears from her face as Kenma beckons her over to him. She plops down onto the seat next to him and he hands his phone to Y/N. She takes one look at the screen and squeals in delight. “Hi, Rin!”

“Hey, bunny, how’re you doing? You didn’t answer my text a while ago.”

“Sorry, Rinnie! I’m h-having so much funnnnn,” Y/N hiccups over Atsumu’s obnoxiously loud music, an old hip-hop song from their childhood. “I miiiiiiiiss you!”

“Ew,” Kenma says between coughs, getting up and walking away.

“Kyanmaaaa, you’re so meaaaannnn,” she pouts before turning back to the phone. She flashes him a big, hazy smile. “Everyone’s so nice to me, though. Kenma’s just jealous. We should get him a girlfriend. I just bleached his hair today!”

He chuckles. Her heart twists in her chest when she notices that he looks awfully tired, his hair tucked underneath the hood of his black Inarizaki sweatshirt. “Oh, is that right? First we’d need to find a girl to like him enough, though.”

“I like him!”

Suna raises an eyebrow. “You do?”

Y/N nods eagerly. “Yeah! He’s just like a cat. He’s so mean but deep down he just wants to be loved.”

“So you like Kenma now? Not me?”

“Stop messing with me, _Rintarou Suna!_ I like you, too! But not like that! _”_

“What way do you like me, then?”

“You know… I like you. Come on! Don’t make me say it!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she vaguely sees that Atsumu and Kenma are standing frozen in place, not five feet away. Soulja Boy is still playing on the speakers.

 _“SIX-SEVEN-EIGHT-TRIPLE-NINE-EIGHT-TWO-ONE-TWO!”_ Kuroo and Bokuto scream.

Rin shoots her a wink. “Kiss me through the phone, then, bunny.”

Being ever so pliant, Y/N does as she’s told.

“Hnnnnngh… go away, Rin,” she groans, trying to swat away the hand that’s trying to shake her awake. “Too early to fuck. Thirty more minutes.”

“Unfortunately for you, it’s me,” Kenma deadpans. The realization of what she just said makes Y/N jerk to a more conscious state. “Come on. We’ve got class in an hour, and we still have to pick Akaashi up.”

“Fucking shit.” She slaps herself in the face to wake herself up, earning a weird stare from Kenma. She’s in Rin’s bed, still wearing the clothes she had on yesterday. She assumes the boys made a judgement call to not let Kiyoomi see her drunk on a school night, and she mentally thanks them for looking out for her.

“Be in the living room in 30 minutes,” he says. “I’ll make us breakfast. Don’t expect anything fancy. I’m not Osamu.”

“Yes, master.”

“Great. My worst nightmare. _Two_ Rintarous.”

Y/N doesn’t snap out of her hungover state until her classes for the day are finally over, barely replying to Rin’s text messages and having to copy Akaashi’s notes during their lunch break. But when she finally does land back in reality, it’s in the parking lot as she, Kenma, and Akaashi walk back to Kenma’s car.

Beside the GTR is a very, _very_ familiar blue car, its owner leaning against the hood with a smirk, a lollipop hanging out of his mouth.

“Thought you weren’t gonna be home until tonight,” Kenma remarks, covering up for Y/N’s paralyzed silence. She doesn’t know if she should run up to him and hug him, especially with the knowledge of what he did in Kobe at the back of her mind. It shouldn’t matter, really, because at this point everyone knows they’re a thing—except for Kiyoomi, of course.

Suna shrugs. “Well, it’s not every day that the girl you like tells you she likes you back.”

Y/N turns to Akaashi, hissing, “I told him?”

Grimly, he leans down and quietly answers, “Yeah. You did.”

“Fuck. Please never let me drink again.”

“Ahem.” Her focus snaps back to Rin, who looks at her expectantly. “Thought you missed me so bad, hm? Where’s my kiss?”

“Disgusting,” Kenma deadpans, unlocking his car. “See you later, asshole. Glad you got back safe. Let’s go, Akaashi?”

Akaashi nods and waves goodbye to Y/N and Suna. Kenma pulls out of his parking spot with a loud roar coming from his car, leaving a waft of exhaust smoke behind him.

“Now, where were we?” Suna grins, leaning in for a kiss. He stops halfway. “Are you… are you wearing my clothes?”

She looks down at her outfit; it’s her black tank top, but she is indeed wearing a pair of his black pants and his black and green jacket is draped over her shoulders.

“Uh… yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. But while I do like seeing you in my clothes, I think you’d look even better in the surprise I got you.”

The surprise, to Rin’s amusement and Y/N’s playful disapproval, is a black bikini set, with a low cut top and matching high leg bottoms. He doesn’t stop there though, leaning down to fasten a dainty silver chain around her right ankle. It’s got a charm on it that she can’t see, but there’s a little bell she can hear chime every time she moves.

“My car got dirty from the drive. I want you to wash it,” he says. No one, surprisingly, is at Aran’s garage except for them. Y/N figures they won’t show up until the evening.

She scowls as he drags a hose and a bucket of soap and water from a supply closet. “What?!”

“Put the bikini on and wash my car.”

“Douchebag jar. You can’t be serious.”

“Do you trust me?”

She sighs. Of course she does. She used to be known on the track for her supreme instinct, her ability to smell disaster from a mile away. Dating Tobio Kageyama for as long as she did was her own masochistic way of wanting to prove herself and her talents wrong. But Y/N is smart enough to distinguish that Rin isn’t Tobio, not even remotely close. She has enough evidence to back up that fact, too. That’s why it’d hurt more if he betrayed her. Coming from Tobio, it wasn’t much of a shock.

“Yeah, I trust you.”

“Put on a show for me, then,” he says, unwrapping a lollipop and sticking it in his mouth.

Y/N rolls her eyes and gets changed, coming back out only to have the spring air and Rin’s intense gaze hit her body at full force. She ignores the way her skin feels like it’s been struck by the most pleasurable lightning imaginable because she hates acknowledging that she has fallen for him so soon.

After all, she’s right: after you get a taste for love, you can never go without that kind of high ever again.

And he gets her so, _so high._

Suna turns the hose on for Y/N and reclines back in the chair he’s pulled up, gesturing for her to begin. She grabs the hose at its neck and holds it over the lowered Supra, slowly and meticulously making sure that every centimeter of the wide body kit is wet.

Then comes the sponge. She dips it into the bucket of suds and begins to scrub the hood, bending over so she can lift the windshield wipers up. For a moment it seems rather innocent; she’s just washing his car and the swimsuit is just so her clothes don’t get all soggy…

The tell-tale flash of his phone camera shoots a glare into her eyes as it reflects off the glass. She turns around and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Oops.”

Suna winks at her and she smirks back before undoing the bikini top, letting it drop onto the concrete below. She squeezes the rest of the soapy water out of the sponge so it runs down her chest, and in an instant, he’s right in front of her.

“Mm. Gonna print this one out and put it in my wallet. Right behind the one I have of your pretty face.”

She blushes at the thought. She didn’t know he seriously did that; he sounded like he was either too good to be true or simply just kidding when he brought the idea up.

“Shut up,” she says, tugging his t-shirt over his head. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

“Wait, watch this.” He balls up his shirt and throws it straight into the bucket.

“Why would you do that?!”

“Can’t a guy impress his woman every once in a while?”

She blushes, but swats at his arm. “You’re gonna have to go shirtless later.”

“Eh. Good for you.”

“Are we going to fuck or not?”

He laughs quietly. “Lie down, baby.”

Y/N reclines against the wet hood of the Supra, the metal still warm from the engine having been on just minutes ago. He yanks down her swimsuit bottoms and stuffs them in his pocket.

“Oh, fuck, you look so pretty like this. Spread your legs for me... wider, wider, let me see that cute little pussy. Missed it so much.”

Her knees start to shake. “Want you... want you to spit on it.”

“Do you deserve it, though? Atsumu told me about last night.”

She freezes under his grip, although her hips raise off the Supra, trying to get him to touch her somewhere, anywhere. “What’d he tell you?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, bunny. What you should be worried about,” he says, suddenly releasing her only to flip her over so that her cheek is pressed to the hood of the car, back arched upwards like a cat, “is remembering that you’re mine, and mine alone.”

She whimpers quietly, unable to stop the sound from leaving her mouth. He’s leaning over her, and she can feel the bulge in his pants press hard between her thighs.

“You’re a bad little girl aren’t you?” he whispers into her ear, biting softly at the lobe.

“Stop fucking teasing me, Rin,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Say please.”

“No.”

“No? You’re not gonna beg?”

“No.”

He lands a harsh smack to the crease between her ass and her thigh, followed by several lighter slaps around the area. Her hips buck up after each one as she whines incoherent nonsense.

“You don’t wanna listen, huh? You just want me to put my cock in this tight little pussy? You’re still such a fucking brat, aren’t you, baby?” he asks, soothing her flaming hot skin by ghosting his palm over where he’s spanked her.

She doesn’t respond, wanting to keep testing his patience.

“Tch. Guess I’ll have to fuck the answer out of you. You still trust me?”

“Mhmm.”

“Words, angel,” he scolds. She can hear him unbuckling his belt, followed by

“Yes, Rin.”

“What’s our safeword?”

“Peach.”

“Good girl. Gonna flip you over again, baby. Wanna see how pretty you look when my cock’s inside you. Keep your eyes on me.” He helps her turn onto her back once more, only allowing himself a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him before he takes his thumb and index finger to spread her pussy open for him.

"Your little cunt is sobbing for me. Can you feel how wet you are already? Beg, pretty girl. Beg for my cock."

"Mmm, Rin, please, please give me your cock! I'll be a good girl for you, I promise!" she cries, rocking herself back in the hopes that she could touch him, or vice versa. She almost does really cry when his hard-on slid up and down between her sticky lips.

"Fuck the condoms," he spits out, grinding against her roughly. “I'm just gonna have to fuck you raw." He lines himself up with her entrance and shoves himself in to the hilt, giving her almost no time to adjust to his size.

She screams at the suddenness and hopes he’d pause for a second because he was still too big for her. "Ugh, don't move," she hisses. "Just stay put. Not yet."

He does, thankfully, but not a second longer as he begins to piston in and out of her.

"Fuck, Rin!" she screams, gripping onto his biceps.

He slides out and back in, the tip of his cock scraping against her g-spot, and they both moan as the action sends shockwaves through their bodies. She strains to reach her head up and offer him a kiss, which he gladly and hungrily accepts.

"Say my name for me, bunny," he says, quite confidently as he pumps in and out of her faster, building up a steady rhythm.

"Rin," Y/N whimpers. She’s sure she’s addicted to the feeling of him hitting spots inside her that only he could abuse as he pleased.

"Louder, bunny," he demands, speeding up the rhythm of his hips thrusting into her. All he can hear are his own heavy breaths and her little sighs between her louder moans whenever he presses up against a certain spot inside her.

“Ri-iiin,” she gasps, screwing her eyes shut at the intensity of the pleasure. She mewls when he grabs onto her bouncing breasts for leverage as he drives himself deep into her, the topside of his cock rubbing against her swollen, reddened clit. She’s sure she’s going to pass out from overstimulation when he starts to toy with her nipples, rolling the piercings between the calloused pads of his fingers.

"Come on, I know you're fucking louder than that. Let me know how much you love my cock inside your tight little hole," he insists. He rubs at her clit, forcing more pleading cries from her throat.

“Rin! Fuck, fuck, I love it so much!” she screams, tugging at his hair. She reaches up to kiss him gently, admiring the way his eyebrows knit together in concentration and his eyes are shut in complete ecstasy. She amorously pets his bangs back as he buries his head in her neck kisses her sensitive skin roughly, desperately trying to maintain his composure.

"I-I'm gonna... I'm gonna fucking cum," Suna hisses, his thrusts becoming irregular as he struggled to maintain a steady pace.

"It's okay, Rin. I wanna cum, too, please. Let it go-oh!" she mumbles, the last half coming out in a scream as he rams into her g-spot again.

But Y/N knows he’s determined for her to finish first. He thrusts in and rocks his hips slowly, getting deeper until he’s pushing at her cervix. She knots her fingers in his hair, crying out, screaming his name, raising her hips to meet his thrusts, which only spurs him on even further.

"Rin, please," she gasps as his hand wraps around her throat. He squeezes lightly, pressing down on the prominent veins in her neck. The cutoff of blood flowing into her brain would make her impending orgasm even more intense. "Please, Rin, fuck."

"Are you close, sweetheart?" he asks, gently stroking the skin of her inner arms the way she likes, in contrast to his hard thrusts. The sensitivity of both actions is too much for her to handle.

"Mmm-hmm," is all she can reply, too engrossed in her own pleasure to answer properly.

"Alright, bunny," he coos, thrusts getting sloppier as he nips and sucks on her neck. Her skin breaks, turning the vivid shades of pink and purple, marking her as his and his alone.

"Rin, I-I'm there," she moans, digging her hands into his muscular back. "Cum with me, please. Want… want you to cum in me.”

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl.”

He obliges her—because how can he not—and they ride out their orgasms together, his hips crashing and rolling against hers as her back arches off the Supra and her nails leave deep red scratches and sharp half-moon prints on his perfect skin.

The moment is cut short when they hear the sound of six rumbling engines in the distance. One look into each other’s eyes and they’re scrambling off of the car, struggling to get dressed.

“No! How are you going to explain how you’re wet and—” she points to the outfit she had on before she changed into the swimsuit. Luckily for her, the collar of the jacket hides the hickey on her neck, “—I’m not?!”

“Simple.” He grabs the hose and douses her with water. “We’ll say we got into a fight.”

The twins are the first to arrive, just as Y/N and Suna have everything staged to look like they weren’t just fucking in broad daylight.

“Hey,” Osamu says, poking Y/N in the rib. It’d break Atsumu’s heart to hear her say it, but she thinks Osamu is ever so slightly hotter than him. She assumes it’s because he’s not asloud as Atsumu, and his shoulder-to-waist ratio is almost the same as Rin’s. “Try to be more slick next time.”

“What?”

“You said you washed Suna’s car.” He points at the Supra. “Something tells me you finished something else.”

“Y/N?” Kita asks, approaching her. “You okay?”

He presses the back of his hand to her forehead.

Y/N does her best not to flinch. Kita still kind of scares the shit out of her, even though he’s very caring towards her. She just has an inexplicable urge to not disappoint him in any way, and she doesn’t know how he’d react if he knew she was fucking his best racer. “Yeah… why?”

“You don’t have a fever or anything? You look hot.”

Atsumu and Osamu both snort. Suna sneaks up on them and smacks both of them behind the head. Aran sighs in disappointment.

Kita glares at the twins. “Not like that.” He turns back to Y/N. “Not that you’re not pretty or anything. I just mean that you look like you’re about to get sick.”

“Uh… no, I’m okay.”

“Y/N,” Kiyoomi calls out. From beside him, Motoya waves at her. “Can I talk to you?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?” she retorts, earning her another laugh from the twins.

“In private.”

She sighs. Her pants are still dripping with water as she follows him outside the garage.

“What the fuck were you doing alone with Suna?” he hisses.

“He picked me up from school,” she answers smoothly. “I needed a ride. You know I don’t drive my car just anywhere.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me instead?”

“Because we’re not kids anymore, Kiyo! Plus, we hung out with Kenma and the other guys before we came here. I know you don’t like being in big groups.”

“Y/N,” he begins, his tone so annoyingly stern.

She shakes her head. “Stop it. _We’re not together anymore_ , and we haven’t been for a long time now. That was my fault, remember? Just like you said?”

Kiyoomi sighs through his mask. “That doesn’t mean that I just stopped caring about you. As fucked-up as it is, we’re still family. I just don’t want him to hurt you.”

“Tch. He’s not, I swear.”

“That’s what you said about—”

“Not another fucking word, Kiyoomi Sakusa. You know I was with him to get over you.”

“Y/N…”

“Save it. I’m out of here.”

“Are you coming home later?”

“Don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” he says stiffly. “Take care.”

“Yeah. You, too.”

Suna’s voice is oddly cold, coming out clipped and lower than usual.

“What are you wearing?” he asks. He’s behind her, sitting in bed.

Y/N turns around, leaning against the doorframe. She’s in a black and white jersey with the number 10 printed on the front and back. “I… uh… I found it in your closet.”

“Oh. Right.”

It’s quiet for way longer than is normal for the two of them, and she doesn’t know how to approach him. That’s until she sees him begin to gasp for air. It’s something she herself is familiar with, despite not experiencing one in years.

A panic attack.

“Rin, it’s okay, I’m here,” she says cautiously, approaching him on the bed. She usually doesn’t like to be held when she gets like this, so she asks him first. “Can I come closer?”

Suna nods. His knees are drawn to his chest as he rocks himself back and forth.

“Name five things you can see right now.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. They’re all memories.”

“This is your high school volleyball jersey, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it bothers you?”

“That… that… everything is different now. My life is nowhere near what I thought it would be. I was supposed to do so many things, and now I’m in a fucking _gang._ ”

“Expectations will be the death of us,” she mumbles, stroking his hair back. He leans into her touch. “I bet you probably thought you wouldn’t be racing. Or that you’d still be with… with Ahmya. I’m sorry it’s not what you dreamed of.”

He shakes his head. “I just don’t want to be stuck like this forever. I want a normal life.”

She sighs, kissing his forehead. “I know. Me, too.”

“Will that ever even happen?”

“I promise it will. We’ll be okay, Rin. We’ll never be kids again, but we’re going to make it out of all of this shit if it’s the last thing I do.”

“You really mean that?”

“Yeah. I do.” Y/N reaches behind her neck and unclasps her team necklace. “Here. You wear mine and I’ll wear yours. No one will know but us. It’s a promise. We’ll do it together.”

She can’t read the expression in his eyes but he follows suit, fastening his chain around her throat. “Together.”

She hums a song softly as he makes himself comfortable against her smaller frame, positioning himself so that his face is pressed up against the crook of her neck. She can feel his breathing start to even out against her warm skin and his arms wrap around her waist, drawing her in closer to him. With her own shaky fingers, she traces the katakana letters over his shirt, on his back, that, together, spell out a single sentence.

“I love you.”

She hopes that Rin failed Modern Japanese in high school. Or that he’s fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun facts:  
> \- y/n prefers orange juice over apple juice  
> \- suna hates the taste of pickles  
> \- atsumu has a crush on y/n but can’t tell if it’s romantic or platonic. it’s platonic.  
> \- osamu cries in the shower once in a while because he thinks it’s good to let out your emotions, but that doesn’t mean anyone has to see it  
> \- akaashi can recite pages of the great gatsby from memory, just give him a page number.


End file.
